Double Jeopardy
by Predec2
Summary: An old nemesis rears his ugly head, putting Justin and Brian in danger.  Sequel to "Secret Admirer."  He's back...! Warning - Rated M for mature situations, language, non-con and violence.
1. Plans

**A/N: This story makes more sense if you read "Going, Going, Gone," and its sequel, "Secret Admirer" first, but you can read it without the other two. Let's just say this man is not a very nice man...LOL! **

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_Blackbird Lofts - Lawrenceville, PA_

"Justin?" Brian peeked his head into the foyer of their loft as he called his husband's name out. He had stolen a glance into the large picture windows of the blond's adjacent studio space to make sure he wasn't there painting before he had quietly opened the main door.

Hoping Justin was really gone somewhere, he was fairly confident he was when he called out the man's name again and did not receive any response; he tugged the heavy packages he held down the hallway and trudged slowly up the steps with them. What he was about to do was something he wouldn't have been caught dead doing a few years ago. Of course, at the time he never thought he'd be caught dead being married, either, but a certain determined, blonde-haired twink-turned-man had eventually wore him down and made him change his mind.

_Right, Kinney…You just go on believing that, you liar_, he couldn't help thinking. No one had forced him to marry Justin – in fact, when he had asked his partner last year if he wanted to take a vacation with him to try and get rid of the awful image of that asshole Prescott who had been stalking him, he was the one who had suggested a little stop in Vermont on the way to Mykonos. Naturally, Justin hadn't argued with him, at least not after Brian had convinced him that he really _did_ want to marry him.

Now, here it was a year later, and he couldn't believe that not only was he happier than he ever thought he could be, but he was actually about to celebrate his one-year wedding anniversary with Justin by decorating the top floor of their building with a dinner fitting a hopeless, consummate romantic.

He shook his head in wonder, trying to figure out how in the world he had ever let himself get to this point – he hadn't quite become the "dreamy-eyed schoolboy" he had accused Justin of having a dalliance with – hell, he wasn't _that_ over-the-top and he never _would_ be – but he had to admit, he had definitely softened over the years. Maybe it was born of the tumultuous time they had spent together after Lane Prescott had developed that almost deadly fixation on his then partner; it had taken Justin several months after that awful time of being kidnapped and having to testify against the other man before he didn't wake both of them up with a nightmare as he relived that horrific time over and over again.

Brian had lost count of all the times he had had to rock his husband back to sleep, holding him in his arms and soothing his nerves with quiet expressions of love and protection until the blond's breathing slowly returned to normal and he finally fell asleep in his embrace.

He sighed a little in pain over that recollection before he forced himself instead to turn his attention to the present. Justin thankfully hadn't had one of those vivid nightmares for some time now; Prescott was firmly ensconced in jail along with his twin brother after plotting to kill both him and Greg Matthews but being apprehended in time to prevent any harm being done. Finally secure, then, in the knowledge that the two brothers weren't going anywhere except in a pine box eventually, he and Justin had finally been able to replace all those terrible nightmares with much more happier memories and move on with their lives.

He smiled at the thought of how happy Justin was going to be when he saw what he was doing to commemorate their one-year anniversary; this would definitely be one of those happier memories that overshadowed the horrible ones.

Hoisting the large, plastic bags up the attic steps to the outside doorway, he pushed it open with his body and walked up onto the top landing. Unbeknownst to Justin, Brian had recently arranged to have a brick wall installed around the entire circumference of the roof while Justin was in New York for a showing to give them the ultimate in privacy for their one-on-one "encounters" he was planning.

Although they were married now and were monogamous by mutual consent and desire, Brian had been pleased to note that their sex life was as exciting and passionate as ever; in fact, Brian was somewhat surprised to find that once the pressure to uphold his "image" as the great stud of Liberty Avenue had been removed, his and Justin's relationship had taken on a sweeter, even deeper type of nuance. By now, they knew every inch of each other's body and what to do to each other for the ultimate in sensual pleasure. He actually didn't miss having to constantly be on the prowl for the latest, greatest fuck; he had Justin – he didn't _need_ anything else. They each knew other so well that whether it was a passionate, almost violent fuck one night or a slow, patient round of lovemaking the next, it didn't matter because there was another part of the mix that they could never have with anyone else – _love_.

_Boy, have you changed, Old Man_, he chided himself, as he walked over to a small, rectangular glass dinner table, but he didn't care – he was _happy_. And with their anniversary tomorrow, he wanted to make sure he made _Justin_ happy. This plan would be a large step in making that a reality as he began to reach into one of the bags and pull out some items he would need: several boxes of strands of small, white twinkling lights, squat, thick, three-wicked pillar candles scented in vanilla, and a crystal bud vase that would eventually hold a single, perfect, long-stemmed red rose signifying their first year of marriage together.

The weather tomorrow night also promised to cooperate; according to the weather reports, Mother Nature was even going to oblige with a full moon. Thinking how all the soft light would compliment his partner's fair skin, blond hair and those incredible blue eyes, his body thrummed in anticipation of Justin's reaction when he saw their special anniversary dinner he was having catered by one of the most exclusive Greek restaurants in town. He thought after their incredible honeymoon in Mykonos, it was only fitting that they feast on the same kind of food one year later to commemorate their union.

He glanced around the spacious, square space at the progress the work crews had made so far; Brian had hired them on the basis that they would be paid handsomely for working around Justin's schedule; fortunately, due to Justin's great success lately with the pieces he was producing out of his studio next door, he had been extremely busy of late either driving or flying to various art shows to accomodate gallery owners clamoring for one of his works to display. Each time he left, Brian missed him terribly – phone sex was so mild compared to the real thing of bare skin on skin now – but he was glad in a way that Justin had been busier than normal lately, because the work that needed to be done on the top roof floor was almost complete.

He noted to his satisfaction that the work crew had also succeeded in installing the 12 X 12' vinyl canopy over the right corner of the roof; it would allow him and Justin to relax under the retractable covering even when it rained. He knew how much Justin loved hearing the sound of rain pattering on the metal roof inside their loft, so he made sure to include that sort of design feature in their new rooftop hideaway. The soft, calfskin leather outdoor furniture had been delivered and placed underneath, too, he noticed, imagining all sorts of sensual escapades he and his husband would soon be enjoying there while they listened to some jazz music coming from their hidden stereo system nearby and relished several rounds of Jim Beam from their built-in wet bar.

Justin had one more delivery to make tomorrow morning, and then he would be done for the rest of the week. It would be perfect to finish up the last-minute remodeling work needed for Brian's surprise, but he would be glad when Justin could stay home for a few days. He was at least thankful that Justin had been able to come home most nights while he had been away; he had found that just trying to sleep even one night without his husband by his side was torture and made him a grousing madman at work. He chuckled to himself, realizing that he wouldn't be the _only_ one that would be glad when Justin stayed home for a while.

Glancing down at his Rolex, he noticed it was almost 6:00; if he didn't hurry downstairs, he might be caught dead to rights on the roof when Justin got home – he was due any minute now. His heart beating in anticipation like it always did when Justin was imminently due, he placed the remainder of his supplies on the table located under the canopy and hurried downstairs to eagerly wait for his husband to return.

He had just managed to rush downstairs a few seconds before he heard the door being unlocked; hurrying over to the open living area, he plopped down nonchalantly on the couch just before the door opened and a blond blur came scurrying in.

"Oh, my God! Shit! Brian! You won't fucking believe it!" Justin hurried into the kitchen, excitedly searching for his husband. "Brian! I know you're here – I saw the 'Vette outside! Where are you? I have to tell you something!"

Brian curled his lips under in amusement; some things never changed._ Once a whirlwind, always a whirlwind_….

Lying lengthwise on the couch, he raised his eyes to peer over the side of the leather sofa's arm as Justin came rushing in to find him. He heard a loud, exasperated sigh as his husband said, "Have you gone deaf now? Didn't you hear me calling you?" He placed his hands on his hips as he walked over to stand in front of the couch and glare down at the brunet, who merely stared back at him innocently.

"I heard you," he acknowledged readily. "I was just waiting for you to take a breath and come up for air…..sometime next year."

He smiled as Justin glared at him; his eyes widened, however, at the playful, almost dangerous look in the other man's eyes as he walked to the front of the couch to face him.

"Oh, you were, were you?" Justin countered. "Well, don't hold _YOUR _breath, Mr. Kinney," he warned the other man as he promptly sat down on Brian's legs to hold them firmly in place. He took both of Brian's hands and linked them with his before leaning down to give the other man a passionate, tongue-curling kiss. "I have ways of saying a lot – even _without _opening my mouth."

Brian smirked. "Well, I actually prefer you with your mouth open, at least in certain circumstances."

Justin grinned before he unexpectedly let go of Brian's hands and began to tickle the other man mercilessly in his sides where he knew he was the touchiest. "Oh, I don't know. I actually prefer THIS type of communication."

"Justin!" Brian protested in between fits of laughter as he writhed under the unrelenting torment. "Stop that, you asshole!" He couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from him, however, as Justin paid him no heed and merely continued to torture him with his skillful fingers.

_Well, two can play that game, Taylor_. Brian reached up to stop his husband's wandering hands and deftly flipped them over to pin Justin firmly to the couch cushions. There was no way, however, that he could pretend to be angry with the face that was currently staring back at him with so much love and adoration, the blue eyes shining with happiness. He shook his head and grinned ruefully, knowing he was lost, before he leaned down to return the blond's previous "favor" and give Justin a slow, deep kiss.

Several seconds later, they finally broke apart breathlessly as Brian lay beside the blond, idly caressing one of the soft cheeks. Thinking he wouldn't mind caressing _another_ sort of soft cheek soon, he finally remembered Justin's excitement from earlier. "Now that I finally managed to shut you up for a few seconds, what were you trying to tell me?" he asked.

Justin's mouth hung open as he realized he hadn't yet told Brian the wonderful news. "Oh – yeah! I meant to tell you! The painting of the elderly couple on the wooden bench I painted last month?"

Brian nodded as he recalled the realistic, wonderfully stark portrayal Justin had painted of the wizened, older man and wife he had encountered one morning near the park as they waited for the bus; he had asked them for permission to do a sketch of them and was delighted when they had agreed. He had subsequently used the sketch to paint a large portrait of them and had decided to deliver that one to the art gallery in Philadelphia for a showing last week.

Yeah, that one was really good," he told the blond, who beamed at the praise. Before, Brian would have deemed his paintings to be "all right." Lately, though, he had elevated his endeavors to one of "really good." He decided he rather liked that promotion as he continued excitedly, "Well, I got a call this morning from William Clayton, the gallery's owner. Guess how much they sold that painting for?"

"Well, by the way you were practically bouncing off the walls when you came in, I would say the equivalent of the national debt?"

"Ha, ha," Justin responded, twisting his face. "Close, but not quite." He took a breath as if he were still trying to believe it himself as he told his husband, "Mr. Clayton said there was a minor bidding war that broke out at the show, and by the time it was all said and done, my painting had been sold for…." He deliberately inserted a pregnant pause before disclosing the dollar amount. "It sold for $27,000! Can you fucking believe it?‼"

Brian smiled broadly at his husband, surprised in a way by the exorbitant sum but in a way not _too _surprised; he knew how talented Justin was, so it was just a matter of time before everyone else realized it, too. He sighed melodramatically. "Thank God – now maybe you can actually contribute toward the household expenses….."

"Ow!" He pulled his hand back where Justin had pinched it. "At least before you'd _bite _it instead," he observed, receiving a mock look of disgust from the blond. Before Justin had a chance to retort, he added, "Don't get your little tighty-whities in a knot. You know I was kidding, Sunshine," he said softly, smiling tenderly at the pouting lips. He couldn't help reaching over to grab Justin's neck and pull his lips back to his for yet another round of Tongue-Fucking 101. "I think it's great," he sincerely told the younger man, who grinned back at him proudly. "What do you say we go upstairs and celebrate some more?"

As Justin twisted his body to rise from the couch, he said, "You're on, Old Man. Drinks are on me."

Brian snorted as he rose to join him, reaching over to grab the pale, long-fingered hand. "You're so extravagant, Mr. Taylor, considering the Beam upstairs is a gift from one of my clients."

Justin merely shrugged. "So I'm frugal," he explained as Brian laughed.

"Come on, Mr. Artist Extraordinaire," the brunet said, tugging on Justin's arm to prod him along. "Let's go take care of some business of our own."

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_Pittsburgh State Correctional Institution – Greensburg, PA - same time_

As he sat on the worn, paper-thin mattress in his cell, the man wearing orange and white stripes stared down at the newspaper in his shaking hands. He could barely control his anger as he once again reread the Pittsburgh paper's Art Section, front-page article detailing the recent successes of Justin Taylor, the man who was recently named as New Yorker Magazine's Hot New Emerging Artist of the Decade.

It wasn't the man's success that was causing his own body to heat up in fury and his adrenalin to increase; he knew without a doubt how incredibly talented the man was, as well as beautiful inside and out. No, it wasn't that; it was the photo staring back at him of the elegantly but casually-dressed brunet standing next to him, the taller man's face peering down in pride and affection at the artist as his hand rested possessively around the slim shoulder as if he owned him. A gleaming, platinum-colored wedding band was apparent on the man's tapered, well-manicured hand. The caption underneath the photo proclaimed, "_Pittsburgh's Version of Andy Warhol celebrates his prestigious award with his husband, Brian Kinney, at New Yorker Magazine's recent announcement of his achievement."_

Slowly he crumbled up the paper in his hands until it was a tight, wrinkled wad, his knuckles white from the enraged grip he had on the material as he silently seethed in rage. He glanced up as he heard his cellmate entering their claustrophobic, tiny space. "Well?"

The other man nodded. "It's all set. Tomorrow morning."

For the first time in a long time, Lane Prescott smiled.


	2. Love Versus Betrayal

_**A/N: Thought I should put out a caution on this one - the way I'm heading, this story's shaping up to be rather dark...I have modified the title details to include a violence warning and this chapter includes some of that (not involving B/J, however, but there will be some of that in the future). You know me, though - I would never have something permanent happen to either one of them. Just thought I would caution my readers, though, before you proceed. If you DO go further, and I hope you'll do, I promise you a pretty exciting ride...! Thanks always for reading and reviewing!**_

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_Next Morning_

Justin scrunched up his nose as he felt something tickling his chest. "What the fuck?" he mumbled. Was he imagining this or was he awake?

"Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty," he heard a familiar voice murmuring in his ear; as Brian's hot breath caressed the lobe, he shivered as his eyes slowly fluttered open. Brian was lying on his side, leaning on his elbow as he stared down into the blue eyes intensely.

"Brian," Justin whispered in amusement. "What are you UP to?"

"Funny how that word always seems to work its way into our vocabulary," the brunet quipped as he smiled back at his husband. He slowly, teasingly ran one long finger lightly over Justin's chest as he watched the slender muscles quivering under his touch. He leaned down to kiss the soft, pink lips he knew so well, his tongue darting out temptingly to ask for entrance. Justin smiled as his mouth opened willingly to the other man's probing quest and they proceeded to engage in a heated round of tongue twisting for the next several minutes.

Justin broke off their kiss as he slowly became aware of something, however; by the bright sunlight streaming in through the large picture windows set below in his studio, and the two skylights constructed over their bed, he knew it was getting late. "Brian!" he cried out, pushing the other man off him as the brunet grunted in displeasure. "What time is it?"

Brian shook his head. "Time for fucking," he huskily responded, as he swooped in again with the intention of doing a lot more than just some heavy kissing.

Justin, however, was not to be deterred. "Why aren't you at work? You told me yesterday you had an important meeting this morning – it's got to be late, Brian! Did you forget?" He tried to push the other man away but Brian simply fell on top on him, pinning his arms to his sides.

Brian smirked. "No, Sunshine, I didn't forget, but if I didn't know better, I'd say someone _else _did."

Justin frowned as he appeared to be considering that question; what the hell was Brian talking about it? He knew what day it was; let's see, it was Tuesday, that was a start. And it was May something…He had been running back and forth throughout the state and the Northeast U.S. so much in the past couple of weeks, he hardly knew his own name by now. As Brian continued to caress his body all over with his long, lean hands, it was definitely making his concentration on his task even harder, though. "I know what day it is, Brian," he said defensively when he could catch his breath. He could feel Brian's erection pressing against his stomach as the brunet continued to stroke his body to perfection.

"Uh…..It's May….May 17th," he finally gasped out.

"Uh, huh," Brian murmured, his lips now beginning their trek downward to his intended target. "That's very good, Justin," he whispered against the blond's stomach, the vibration of his lips causing Justin to flinch at the ticklish sensation. "And?" He flicked his tongue into Justin's belly button, swirling the tip around and around as Justin gasped.

"Oh, yeah!" Justin exclaimed finally as Brian's mouth moved on to explore the soft ring of golden curls "down under."

"I almost forgot! The new Halo game is coming out today! Thanks for reminding me, Brian!"

"Ow! What the fuck was THAT for?" he cried out as he felt a sharp smack on his thigh. He saw a distinctive emotion of disappointment and loss cross the brunet's eyes as Brian raised himself up on his elbows to stare back at him in indignant disbelief.

"You really DID forget, didn't you?" the brunet accused him, his eyes flashing with incredulity. "I fucking can't _believe _this! Why did I bother? I can't believe this!" he repeated in irritation, inexplicably feeling sorry for himself. How could Justin have forgotten something so important? Or was it just more important to him?

"Brian, calm down," Justin said, laughing, as he watched the normally self-assured man queening out. "Did you really think I'd forget our wedding anniversary?"

Justin looked up at his husband impishly, his blue eyes sparkling playfully as lifted his eyebrows in challenge.

"Why, you little shit!" Brian snarled at him as he pounced on the lithe body and began to mercilessly torment the blond with nonstop tickling on both sides of his ribcage, right where Brian knew he was the most ticklish. After all, after last night, it was only fair he get his revenge…

"Stop it!" Justin cried out, giggling hysterically. "No fair! Stop that, you asshole!" as Justin writhed in exquisite torment.

His partner did stop briefly to reply, "Ah….you can dish it out but not take it, Taylor?" He laughed just before he resumed his tickling regimen to Justin's consternation.

"Bri-an," Justin managed to gasp out in between giggles; he was laughing so hard now he was actually snorting to Brian's distinct amusement as the brunet began to laugh along with him. "Stop it! Don't you have a job to go to?" he asked hopefully. He tried to push Brian off to end his torture but the brunet was too strong for him.

"It's okay….I know the boss personally…."

"No sex!" he heard all of a sudden.

That at least got Brian's attention long enough to stop what he was doing to say, "Huh?"

Justin grinned. "You heard me!"

Brian stared down at him, his body lying on top of the slender one; he could feel Justin's hard-on pressed against his stomach as he said, "I know I couldn't have possibly heard that right. I could have sworn you just said something like no sex."

"You heard right," Justin retorted impertinently, his hands falling limp at his sides as if he were immobilized; well, at least part of him was immobilized; one certain part was definitely animated at the moment and felt hard as a rock…

Brian continued to stare at him for a few seconds, his lips curled under in a futile attempt to look serious, before he burst out laughing again. "Right, Mr. Horny," he snickered as Justin finally smiled in surrender. "Looks like we'll just have to take care of your little problem right now….."

As his body arched up in pleasure at Brian's resumed assault, Justin decided perhaps that would be best; Brian's "boss" could wait a while…

He raised his head in confusion, however, as he felt the deliciously-familiar warm body abruptly pull up and out of their bed. "What the…..?"

"You're right, Sunshine," Brian replied agreeably, winking at him. "I do have a job to go to. Good thing you're not in the mood for sex, because if I don't hop in the shower right now, I AM going to be late. And YOU, I believe, have to deliver one more painting to a gallery this morning."

"Shit!" Justin forgot all about the indignant reply he was about to give as jumped up from the bed after realizing he had completely forgotten the last delivery he needed to make before he could finally take a break from his nonstop regimen. As he admired the retreating form of his lover, however – the lean, muscled back the tight ass, the long, long legs went on and on – he decided that it didn't mean, however, that they still didn't have enough time for a little something else…

"Hey! Wait for me!"

Brian laughed as held the shower door open a few seconds later. "You're so predictable, Taylor," he said as he pulled Justin into the large, glassed-in stall with him and gave his husband a short smack on his ass. Sometimes predictable, though, wasn't a bad thing at all…

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_Fifteen Minutes Later_

"Brian…..Tell me or I'll tighten your tie until the blood flow's constricted and you turn blue...all over," Justin warned him as he stood in front of his husband to help him straighten his tie.

"Nice try, Sunshine," Brian cracked, smiling slightly. "But you'll still have to wait until tonight."

Justin's lower lip jutted out in disappointment. "Come on – at least a little hint. Please…" he whispered, his blue eyes fastening on the hazel ones. He tried to convey his best puppy-dog look, the one that normally got him anything he wanted, but to his vexation, the man didn't appear to be budging.

"Sorry," Brian said, smirking. "You'll just have to wait," he sing-songed. He grasped the bare, pale shoulders as he leaned down to give Justin a short kiss on the lips and a pat on the head as the blond scowled at him in irritation. "Remember, good things COME to those who wait, Mr. Taylor," he said as he turned to pick up his briefcase to leave.

Justin huffed. "I would say you could kiss my ass, but somehow that doesn't really sound like a threat when it comes to you." He stood there, his hands on his hips, as Brian merely laughed and turned to go.

He leaned down one more time, though, to kiss Justin on the lips before simply whispering, "Later." He smiled again secretly like a cat that ate the canary before he turned to walk down the steps and out into the street.

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"Humpff!" Justin stomped his foot a little. He didn't care if he WAS acting like a kid – this was their first wedding anniversary, and he knew Brian had to be planning something special. "At least, he'd better be," he muttered to himself, especially recalling that all he received in the way of "affection" this morning was a quick fuck in the shower. A pretty spectacular fuck, he had to admit, but a much too quick one at that.

He twisted his lips pensively, wondering just what Brian had in mind for later. He knew he would be gone most of the day, but surely his husband had something up his sleeve. "Well, I guess two can play that game, Mr. Kinney," he thought, smiling. For their anniversary, Justin had flown up to Canada during the day one Thursday last month unbeknownst to Brian and had met up with Lindsey and Gus at a portrait photographer's gallery to have his and Gus' picture taken together. He had found a wonderful, elaborately-scrolled, antique pewter frame to put it in that set off the background colors perfectly, and had just picked up the completed, framed picture just yesterday afternoon at Debbie and Carl's house.

It was currently safely stowed away in the trunk of his car outside, just waiting to be presented to Brian tonight for their anniversary. Perhaps it wasn't the most romantic gift for the commemoration of their first year together as a married couple, but then again, Brian wasn't the typical newlywed. He knew how much Brian loved his son, and regretted not having enough time to spend with him, so Justin knew this gift would be the perfect present for him.

He assumed Brian would want to have it displayed in his office somewhere, despite his protestations that he wasn't the sentimental kind. _Well, I guess I've finally managed to corrupt you at least a little, Mr. Kinney_, Justin thought fondly with a smile as he rushed to get dressed. He had one more delivery to make this morning and then he and Brian could finally spend some quality time together. Looking forward to that, he rushed ran down the steps and flew out the door, hoping his last task would be over quickly…..

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_Pittsburgh State Correctional Institution – Greensburg, PA – Same Day _

The truck from Norton's Launderers pulled up right on schedule at 8:30 a.m.; as was their normal routine, the driver, a burly, bald-headed man in his 30's wearing an identification badge with the last name of "Hanson" on it, waited for the guard to allow him access to the prison facility.

As he waited for the gate to slowly swing open, he glanced down quickly at the text he had just received on his cell phone, instructing him that the plan was officially a "go." Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat at the thought of what he was about to be involved in, he tried to concentrate instead on the material gains he would be receiving for his role in this dangerous game that was about to commence.

He tried to rationalize his part in it by remembering he had a disabled wife and two kids at home that depended solely on him for their housing and food; he had met his wheelchair-bound wife, Sarah, in high school and was still totally devoted to her, despite her handicap. And his kids – they were the light of his life. By agreeing to a relatively minor role in what was about to happen, he could insure that his family was well taken care of for the rest of their lives.

As the gate opened fully to allow the truck to enter, he hastily flipped the cell phone shut and turned it off; per his instructions, he was not to even take the phone out of his truck for the rest of the morning, at least not until his passengers were safely tucked away where they belonged. He was to simply go about his business, delivering freshly-laundered inmate uniforms and towels to the facility and picking up dirtied laundry in return. Only this time, there would be some additional items that weren't normally included – two men whose names he didn't even know but who were somehow paying him quite handsomely for the privilege of hitching a ride.

His part was to merely overlook this fact. He nodded to the uniformed, armed prison guard who was standing inside the guard hut and hoped that his shaking hands and pale face didn't betray what he was about to do. He took a deep breath as he passed through and veered the truck to the left where the loading dock was. If everything went as planned, he would be in and out of the prison within 15 minutes. It would no doubt, though, prove to be the longest 15 minutes of his life.

He backed the truck into the loading bay and turned off the motor, sitting behind the wheel for a couple of seconds to gather his courage before he turned the handle to open the truck's door and get out. As was his typical pattern, he walked back to slide the side door open and roll the large, wheeled basket containing the day's newly-clean laundry over to the loading/unloading platform.

"Hey, Ray," a second guard greeted him, smiling. Maurice Bowers, a handsome, trim black man, had been working for the prison for almost five years now. And while he wasn't too fond of his duties – standing guard over a loading dock day in and day out – the pay was good and it wasn't as stressful as dealing with the prisoners inside the high-security facility. Most days, at least when the weather was good, he actually liked being able to get some fresh air. It was only when it snowed or rained that he found reasons to greatly detest it.

He and Ray Hanson had become actual friends over the years, mainly due to both of them seeing each other on a twice-weekly basis. As Ray would wheel the fresh laundry in and wait for delivery of the dirty replacement bin, he and Maurice would shoot the bull with idle conversation. It was through these talks that they found they actually had quite a bit in common – both had two kids about the same age, both liked the same sports teams (always the Steelers, never the Pirates), and both liked to hunt in their spare time.

Now, however, as Ray greeted his friend, he noticed something a little different about him. He acknowledged him with a slight smile and a "hello," but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes – they were hard to decipher, but the man almost seemed jumpy or perhaps distracted about something. "Hey….something wrong?" Maurice asked curiously.

Ray took a deep breath before he angled his head up to face the other man, forcing his voice – and his face – to don a more casual pose and tone before responding. He smiled. "No, I'm fine," he reassured the other man; internally, of course, he was nervous as hell about what he was about to do, but again, he told himself he was doing this for his family…

"Just a little preoccupied," he explained. "Sarah was in the hospital for a couple of days." He was surprised how easily the lie slipped off his tongue as he internally felt disgust for using his handicapped wife as a convenient excuse.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry to hear that…..is she okay now?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah…..just a flare-up of the disease. She's back home now…thanks for asking," he added as he nodded again and continued to wheel the laundry basket over to the back entrance door. "I'll be right back," he told the guard, who nodded. By now, even though it was strictly against procedure, Maurice trusted the long-time laundry employee so implicitly he didn't even accompany him into the back of the prison where the commercial washers and dryers were located – the man knew his way around so well by now there really wasn't any need.

As Ray closed the door, he leaned back against it and closed his eyes briefly in relief that Maurice didn't apparently realize there was anything unusual going on; he had already been warned that if their plan was discovered, the guard would have to eliminated, and he actually had come to respect and admire the man. Hoping his luck would hold out just a little longer, he pushed the cart over to the designated area and waited anxiously for the other, soiled container to arrive. _Come on, come on_…..he pleaded silently as he stood impatiently waiting for his delivery.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he observed another guard slowly pushing the soiled cart toward him from the end of the hallway. He noticed the man looking nervously to his right and left as he came closer, apparently making sure no one else was around.

Ray's breaths were coming out in small, shallow pants now as he waited for the man to approach; the only other sounds were the squeaking wheels of the undoubtedly heavier-than-normal, industrial-size laundry hamper being pushed toward him.

"Here's your pickup," the man announced authoritatively; Ray couldn't help noticing the man's eyes studying his badge to determine his identity, as well as the hand that was resting lightly now on his holstered gun. The man, apparently satisfied that he was who he was supposed to be, nodded once before adding, "Take extra good care of it, you hear?"

Ray swallowed another lump of apprehension but nodded his understanding. The man stared at him for a few seconds more before he turned and slowly, almost casually, strutted away, no doubt richly compensated for his part in this masquerade as well…..

Taking a deep breath now, Ray grasped the round, metal bars of the hamper's handle and began to push the object toward the exit door, grunting at the unexpectedly-heavy weight of the cart he normally handled with ease; he hadn't considered how much more difficult it was going to be to push the hamper with approximately 400 lbs. more of excess weight in it. Thinking silently how this whole thing may have been a huge mistake, he knew he nonetheless had no choice; he was convinced if he didn't go through with it now, chances were good he wouldn't get out of this whole fiasco alive anyway. Resolved, then, to somehow play his role properly, he slowly pushed with all his might as the wheels eventually began to turn and he was able to, thankfully, pick up adequate speed as he rolled the item toward the back door.

He stopped the hamper right beside the door to open it; just before he was about to turn the knob, however, he could hear the distinctive sound of a gun's trigger being pulled back and his heart leapt into his throat in fear. Why had he let himself be convinced this was a good idea? If he was dead, it wouldn't help his family…

He let out a shaky breath and slowly turned the knob to open it; he jumped back a little, startled, as he encountered Maurice on the other side. The guard smiled at little at him. "Sorry, Ray, didn't mean to scare you. You really ARE distracted today, aren't you? Let me help you with that," he said, chuckling a little at the other man's discomfiture.

"No, no, Maurice, I've got it, I've got it," Ray said nervously, unable now to keep his voice completely level. "I'll take care of it," he hastened to add, his voice shaking noticeably now. _Please_…..he silently pleaded with the man as he noticed with alarm the guard's eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What's going on here, Ray?" the guard asked him, frowning, his instincts taking over. "I think there's more going on here than you're telling me." He suddenly realized the other man was having a lot more difficulty pulling his cart than he normally would; the man's eyes couldn't help darting down toward the dirtied laundry in the hamper, also, a move that did not go unnoticed by the security guard. "Move aside, Ray," Maurice told the other man.

Before he had a chance to loosen the holster holding his own gun in place, however, Maurice was already dropping to the ground, dead from a gunshot blast from a revolver with a silencer attached to it; the laundry's rather thin, canvas material had been no match for preventing the projectile from effectively hitting its target, killing the man instantly with a lucky shot through the heart.

Ray gasped in shocked, stunned at this turn of events as he heard a voice growl, "Shit!" and the two men hidden in the cart instantly rose from underneath the soiled material and quickly jumped out of the hamper. "Get him in the hamper – now!" Lane snarled at the his brother and Hanson.

"You heard him, asshole – help me get him in there or you're going to be dead, too!" Aiden Prescott instructed the other, now quivering man, who noticed curiously that his two escapees were identical twins. As Lane trained the revolver on him, he managed with his shaking hands to help lift the lifeless body of the guard into the hamper and with the extra set of hands push the cart quickly to the truck and into the open side panel. The two men quickly jumped back into the cart along with the body of the dead guard as Ray quickly swung the door closed and scampered to get into the driver's seat.

"Get this fucking thing out of here – NOW!" One of the men growled at him, leaving no ambiguity as to what would happen if he didn't comply. Despite his shaking legs, he quickly started up the motor and shoved the gear into reverse as a back-up beep began to sound and the truck slowly pulled away from the loading dock.

"Just keep your head down and act normal," he heard from the rear of the truck. "If you give us away, you're going to be dead along with the rest of us," he was told as he nodded his understanding and kept his eyes straight ahead of him.

As he slowed down in front of the guard's hut at the gate's service entrance, he prayed silently that the terror he was feeling wouldn't be betrayed in his eyes and face as he stopped and waited for the guard to acknowledge him. He noticed with alarm that the man was on the phone; he hoped it had nothing to do with what had just happened, but he had no way of knowing.

Finally, after a few seconds, the guard raised his eyes to peer back at him for a few seconds before miraculously waving his hand in dismissal and pressing the button to lift the gate's lever. Taking a deep breath as he passed by, Ray pressed down on the gas panel and sped up, wanting to get as far away from the jail in as short a time as possible.

It wasn't until they had traveled at least thirty minutes before the two men in the hamper felt safe enough to emerge from the relative obscurity of the container. As the two brothers climbed out of the hamper, they quickly began to take off their orange-and-white-striped shirts, which would be the most noticeable part of their ensemble were they in need of stopping somewhere. "Where are they?" one of the brothers asked him curtly.

Ray took another deep breath; thank God he had remembered. "In the back – black duffle bag," he informed them as he watched them out of the rear-view mirror walking back to the designated piece of luggage and zipping it open. One of the twins picked up a pair of nondescript jeans, a black shirt, underwear, socks, belt, and shoes and began to quickly doff the rest of his prison garb to change. The other brother quickly followed suit and in no time, the two could pass for any other citizens just traveling along going about their daily business. If it hadn't been for the different-colored shirts, though, it would have been hard to tell either one apart because of how identical they were.

One of the men walked back up to stand behind the driver's seat. "Couple of miles up," he said cryptically. "Gravel road on the right." Ray nodded silently, not wanting to say anything that might antagonize either one of his passengers. He simply wanted to get his part over and done with, get his money and get out of their lives forever.

After a couple of minutes, he noticed the road his passenger had indicated and slowed the truck down to make the right turn. He kept driving straight as he waited for further instructions.

A few minutes later, he heard the same man say, "Drive over to that bridge over there and stop." Not quite sure what the man had in mind, he nonetheless did as he was told, noticing the gun clutched in the speaker's hand. His tried desperately to slow his pounding heart to no avail as he slowed the truck down on top of the deserted, one-lane cement bridge and stopped.

"Keep the motor on – this won't take long," the same man told him. He noticed in his side vision the man motioning with the gun for the other brother to open the door. Not wanting to turn around for fear he would appear too nosey, he heard the side door being swung open and heard a rustling noise. Guessing the guard was being retrieved from the hamper, he continued to stare straight ahead and hope his role in this dangerous subterfuge would soon be over and he could return to his wife and kids, the only reason why he felt forced to do what he did. Only he had never dreamed that an innocent man would be killed in the process.

Too late, he realized Maurice Bowers wouldn't be the only innocent man killed that day as he heard a click and then felt a gunshot ripping into the back of his head an instant before he, too, slumped over in the driver's side, dead.

Lane jumped down from the side of the truck to join his brother and opened up the driver's side door to pull Ray's body out. "Hurry up!" he commanded his brother as Aiden grabbed the shoulders of the guard and began to drag his body over to the side of the railing. Lane followed closely behind him with his own heavy load as he dropped the other dead man beside the guard.

As if by a silent signal, the two hefted each of their responsibilities slowly over the side railing and gave them one final push as both bodies plummeted approximately 20 feet to the rushing water below. As the dead men floated momentarily to the surface, they stayed long enough to make sure the current would take them down river before turning around and heading back to their escape vehicle.

As one brother got into the passenger seat and was about to close the door, he heard his twin's voice say, "You've served your purpose, dear brother. I don't need you anymore, either."

As he turned to look at the man who was born the same day as himself – the man he had worked with for so long and had planned this escape with for months now – his eyes widened in horror as he realized what he about to do. "No…please," he pleaded just before the revolver went off and his world went permanently black.

A few minutes later, the third body disposed of in the same fashion, the truck slowly started up and drove over the bridge toward the interstate to begin the next part of the plan…..


	3. Four Five Nine

_One Hour Later – Pittsburgh – Liberty Diner_

"Hi, Honey!" Jennifer Taylor walked toward her son who was seated at a booth and, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek, she took a seat on the opposite side.

Justin smiled. "Hey, Mom."

His mother flashed her son a wide smile in return. "I sold the house!" she exclaimed triumphantly as her eyes lit up.

"You don't mean that old, rickety, about-to-fall-down mansion on the outskirts of town?"

She nodded, beaming. "That's the one! I am SO glad to get rid of, um, _sell_ that house! You know how long I've had that thing listed?"

"Oh, let's see…18 months, two days, and about, uh," he looked over at the clock above the counter, "2 hours and 14 minutes?"

Jennifer chuckled. "I guess I _have_ been a little desperate to sell it, haven't I?" she verified. "But that old "rickety" mansion as you call it will also come with a $7,500 commission!"

Justin grinned. "I'm proud of you, Mom," he told her. "Looks like you'll be buying ME lunch today, then."

She looked at her son fondly as Justin smiled back at her. "Well, I guess I could have my arm twisted."

"Big plans for your anniversary?" Jennifer asked as she took a sip of water. There had been so many roadblocks before her son and Brian could get married that the date was firmly engrained in her memory now. She was curious just what Brian, in particular, had in mind to commemorate it; she knew while he had softened somewhat over the years, he still wasn't a very demonstrable person when it came to outward displays of romance or affection.

"Well, I'm hoping so at least," Justin replied vaguely. "I really have no idea what he's got planned, but I can tell he's got _something_ up his sleeve." His phone buzzed just then, signifying a text was coming in as he reached for the cell phone on the table and flipped it open. As he read the message, his face flushed and he smiled softly before hurriedly typing in a quick response and shutting it closed again.

As he looked back at his mother, he noticed the puzzled expression on her face and he blushed even further.

"What was that all about?" she asked him, unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

"Just a text message from Brian," he told her vaguely.

"A text message? Why doesn't he just call you to talk?"

"Mom…."

"What?"

"It's personal."

"What, a two-second text? How personal can it _be_?"

Justin diverted his gaze at the ceiling momentarily in awkwardness. "It's just something Brian came up with make sure everything's okay. He just gets a little paranoid sometimes and wants to make sure I'm all right. It's quicker than an actual phone call but accomplishes the same purpose."

Jennifer didn't have to ask what Brian's need to be careful rose _from_; he and Justin had endured so many horrible moments at the hand of her son's stalker that she didn't blame Brian one bit for maybe being super cautious when it came to his husband. In fact, she found it actually endearing.

She continued to stare at her son pointedly until he finally sighed in defeat. "It just says _4-5-9," _he answered, a shy smile on his lips.

She shook her head. "4-5-9? What, is that some new type of sexual position or something?"

"Mom!" Justin laughed. "No, it's not! Shit, Mom!" he answered in embarrassment. "Do you really think that's all we ever think about?" His mother simply raised one eyebrow.

"Never mind," he answered hastily, realizing what a stupid question that was. Even after being married for a year now, his and Brian's passion showed no signs of slowing, nor did their sex life. Not that he necessarily had a problem with that…

His mother continued to stare at him intently until he finally explained, "It's from the keys on the phone pad."

"The phone pad?"

Justin took a breath and clarified, "4 is for the letter I, 5 is for the letter L, and 9 is for the letter Y."

Jennifer couldn't believe her ears as the meaning sunk in. "No way…that can't mean what I _think _it means…"

"The code system was Brian's idea – I actually thought up the three letters we use."

"That sounds more like it," she replied, nodding. "But he still goes along with it?"

Justin beamed, nodding. "Yeah, he does. It's a way for him to say the words without actually having to say them out loud." He smiled as his heart warmed at the thought of his husband's acceptance of the idea. "But it's good enough for me."

She nodded her understanding as the waitress walked over to take their orders. Yes, for Brian that was a HUGE step...

* * *

An hour and a half later, Justin and his mother parted company just outside the diner; as he was walking toward his car the phone rang this time. Flipping it open and immediately recognizing the number, he greeted his caller softly as he leaned against the car's driver side door. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself, Picasso. You all done with your art delivery?"

"Yeah…..I'm at the diner; I just had lunch with my mother."

"Well, how utterly domesticated. And just how _is_ Mother-in-Law Taylor?"

"She fine's – she's all excited because she just sold a big, expensive house," he revealed to Brian.

"Good for her," the brunet responded. "I would expect nothing less from my mother-in-law."

Justin smiled. "I'll make sure she's aware of that the next time I see her." His voice took on a tender inflection as he asked, "So when will you be coming home tonight?" Justin tried to keep the tone of anticipation out of his voice, but he couldn't wait to find out what Brian had in store for them for their first wedding anniversary; the man had been maddeningly evasive about it all week.

"Oh…..I'd say the boss might let me go around 4:30 or so," Brian responded. "He said I could leave a little early due to good behavior."

Justin snorted. "Not too likely, Mr. Kinney, you're too good at being BAD…..Just tell him you're leaving at 4:00 and he can just fuck himself if he doesn't like it. Tell him you'll go somewhere else where they can properly admire your _talents_."

He could hear Brian's soft huff of amusement. "All I have to do is come home for that."

Justin chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you do – then get your ass home as soon as possible. I'm done for the day and horny as hell just for you."

"Oh, well in that case, I wouldn't want you to suffer unnecessarily," Brian said melodramatically. "I'll make sure to tell him what you said – see you later."

Justin smiled as he answered softly, "Later," before flipping the phone shut.

Looking forward to Brian's reaction to his gift hestill had nestled in the trunk, and anticipating whatever delicious activity Brian had in store for him later tonight, he opened the car door and eagerly got in to return to Britin and wait for his husband to arrive.

_

* * *

_

Kinnetik

_– 2:00 p.m._

Tom Matheson glanced down at his cell phone as it chimed, his heart beginning to beat rapidly as he opened it and read the text message:

_3:00 p.m. – Stick to the Plan – Understand?_

He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time how he had ever allowed himself to be talked into helping this "friend of a friend." He realized, though, what type of tremendous favor he owed his own friend for obtaining this prestigious job he presently had with Kinnetik, the premier advertising agency in Pittsburgh. Hundreds of applicants had lined up for the sales executive position that had opened up six months ago; if it hadn't been for his friend, who was a major client of Kinnetik's, he never would have been obtained an interview with the CEO and owner, Brian Kinney, and he knew he never would have gotten the well-paying job he presently enjoyed if it hadn't been for him.

Of course, he wasn't naïve enough to think favors didn't come without a price; his friend had recently contacted him and asked if he would set up his boss with a lunch meeting; it seems some man had become positively entranced with the sexy, brooding ad executive and dearly wanted to meet him in person. All he had to do was arrange on the online business calendar for Kinney to meet a "potential lucrative client" at a private room downtown at the Pittsburgh Gentlemen's Club.

Basically, it was a simple enough task; as an ad executive, part of his job was to set up the CEO with possible new advertising clients. What concerned him the most, however, was what might happen to his job if the meeting turned out to be a disaster. He had no idea if this person was actually a legitimate businessman or not; for all he knew, he could just be some guy who was simply interested in getting into his boss's pants. From what he heard from other employees, it hadn't been too long ago that Kinney probably wouldn't have minded the opportunity; but apparently his marriage to Justin Taylor a year ago had changed him and he wasn't interested in pursuing anyone else any more.

He heard his cell chime again as he realized he hadn't answered the previous text. This text this time merely said:

_I'm waiting._

Sighing, he quickly punched in the words, _I understand_, as he prayed he wasn't making a huge mistake.

_

* * *

_

Pittsburgh Gentlemen's Club – Downtown – 2:55 p.m.

Brian hurried through the large, ornate double pewter doors of the Club, glancing down at his watch to make sure he wasn't running late. He fervently hoped this meeting wouldn't take too long – he had promised Justin he would be home no later than 4:30 p.m. and he really wanted to stick to that schedule. He had been eagerly waiting all day to be reunited with his husband and to especially see his expression when he showed him the refurbished rooftop hideaway he had constructed for him.

His cock stirred at the thought of him and Justin making love tonight on their soft, calfskin leather couch under the canopy after their gourmet Greek meal. He smiled as he imagined Justin's reaction to his surprise – the man would be beaming from ear to ear and even hornier than he had said he was previously. He shook his head briefly in disbelief at his lesbionic thoughts, thinking just how much he had changed since he and Justin had met – he was getting downright maudlin in sentimental drivel now.

He walked up to the hostess. "Brian Kinney – I'm meeting a Mr. Poe," he informed the tall, blond-haired woman who stood there openly admiring his trim, elegant figure.

"Yes, Mr. Kinney," she responded nodding, smiling as she referred to a reservations sheet attached to a wooden dais. "If you'll come with me," she advised him as Brian followed her toward a private back room for his meeting. He never knew when he met with potential new clients how long these initial meetings would last; but tonight was special. He HAD to get done quickly – he had a much more important reunion to look forward to.

Pausing at a closed door, the hostess turned the knob and stood aside to allow Brian to enter. "I'll send the waitress right back," she told him as Brian nodded and turned to face his dining companion.

The man appeared to be in his 40's, trim but muscular with a small, neatly groomed mustache and dark, thick hair. As he rose to greet him, Brian noticed the well-tailored, expensive suit the man was wearing and his estimation of a hopeful, lucrative account rose somewhat. He always figured that anyone who could afford the best in fashionable attire had to have abundant money to also spend on advertising.

"Mr. Kinney?" the man said, extending his hand to shake Brian's. "I'm Lincoln Poe."

Brian shook the man's hand and nodded. "Mr. Poe – it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Please – have a seat," Poe instructed as he took the empty chair opposite Brian's. "I hope you don't mind – I took the opportunity to order us a drink before your arrival."

Brian noticed what appeared to be a tumbler of Grey Goose in front of him. "Not at all," he replied, pasting on his most winning business smile. He took a brief sip to verify it was, indeed, vodka as he felt the familiar burn down his throat. "One of my favorites," he told the other man, nodding in approval. He was glad the man had already ordered their drinks for _another_ reason – it made their lunch that much shorter and gave him more of a chance to leave on time so he could get home to be with Justin….

He sipped nonchalantly on his drink as he said, "My associate, Mr. Matheson, said you were interested in an ad campaign for your business, which is…?"

As the waitress arrived with their glasses of water, the two men hurriedly looked through their menus and ordered two of the prime rib lunches; as the woman left to place their orders, Brian rather impatiently waited for the other man's response to his question.

"I was asking you what your business entailed," he prodded the other man professionally.

"Ah, yes. You might say I'm in procurements," the man finally answered somewhat vaguely to Brian's consternation. It would be hard to sell his agency's services if the man didn't provide him with more specific information. This sort of behavior was not totally unexpected, however; it wasn't too unusual sometimes for a potential client to be deliberately obtuse until they could ascertain just how capable Brian was of increasing their business. Once they were more confident that he knew his stuff, they always opened up to him, eager to share their ideas for a possible ad campaign to his amusement. "Procurements?" he asked, hoping to encourage the other man to elaborate.

The man stared at him so intently then, he almost made Brian who was normally unflappable feel uneasy. "Yes," the man said quietly. "I'm called upon to obtain some unusual items," he answered mysteriously.

Brian really didn't have the inclination to deal with such a vague explanation, especially when he was so eager to get the meeting over with and get out of there. "Mr. Poe…..If I'm to give you an adequate sales pitch for your business, I really need to know more about it first."

"Oh, you'll understand very shortly," he said as his rather beady, piercing brown eyes stared back at him pointedly, almost as if he were waiting for something.

Brian stared at him, wondering what in the hell he had gotten himself into. Just what sort of weirdo had Matheson set him up with? He watched as the man took a drink of his vodka; the man continued to stare at him, almost as if he were waiting for him to explode.

He was about to address the other man again when the waitress returned with their dinners. Waiting for her to place his plate in front of him, he remained quiet until the woman had walked over to the door and closed it before speaking aloud once more.

"Mr. Poe," Brian began again, as a sharp pang of nausea suddenly rose from his stomach. He winced visibly, holding his abdomen with his free hand in an attempt to quell the sickly feeling that was rising within him. It was nothing like he had ever felt before. He looked over at his companion, noticing to his alarm that his vision was also becoming blurry. What was going on?

As Brian clutched at the table for support, he finally heard the other man speak again. "Yes, Mr. Kinney, in the words of the immortal OTHER _Mr. Poe_ – Edgar Alan, that is – _never again_." He laughed softly as Brian's eyes rolled back in his head and his upper body half slumped onto the table as he fell unconscious.

Smirking at his accomplishment, the man dragged his now-lifeless lunch companion out of the chair and, holding onto his upper arms, slowly tugged him over to the exit door at the back of their dining room. It wasn't a coincidence that he had specially requested this club – _and_ this particular room; it was the only private chamber that also had an emergency exit. With his skills as a consummate electronic whiz, it hadn't been hard to disable the door's warning feature before Kinney had arrived.

Now as he placed Brian's limp body near the door, he rapped on it four times quickly in succession. The door instantly opened to reveal another man waiting directly outside, a mid-sized SUV parked nearby. "Hurry up!" the man outside hissed as he reached in to help grab Brian by one of his arms.

With both of them lugging the other man, it didn't take very long to lay him lengthwise in the back seat of the rental vehicle. As he stood near the SUV, the green-eyed man leaned against the driver's side door to face Poe. "How long will he be out?"

"Oh, I slipped a pretty good dose into his vodka," the other man reported. "I'd say a few hours, anyway."

Prescott nodded in satisfaction. "Good – that should give me plenty of time."

"For what?" Poe asked curiously.

"None of your fucking business," Prescott snarled as he opened up the door to get in. "Trust me – the less you know, the better. You're being well paid to keep your mouth shut." He entered the vehicle and shut the door to peer out at the other man through the open window. "You'll get your money just as we agreed," he informed the other man. "And Poe," he added, "If word ever gets out of your involvement or Matheson's, you're both dead men – you understand?"

Poe had no doubt from the determined, intimidating look on the other man's face that he meant every word he was saying. "Yeah," he said soberly, nodding his head for emphasis. "I understand."

Prescott stared at him fiercely for a few seconds before he twisted his head to glance back at his captive, who remained immobile. "You'd better," he responded sharply as he turned back to stare at Poe.

The other swallowed a lump in his throat as he watched in relief when Prescott pushed the button to raise the window back up. As he watched the man slowly drive away, he let out a huge breath of nervous air, wondering just what he had done.

_

* * *

_

Pittsburgh 25_th__ Precinct Station – Downtown – 4:55 p.m. – same day_

"Detective Horvath," Carl automatically answered the landline phone absentmindedly as he reviewed a mound of paperwork related to the latest case he was working on. He stopped what he was doing, however, as he heard an unexpected, but not unfamiliar voice.

"You sitting down?" Greg Matthews asked him without any further preamble.

"Nice to talk to you again, too, Greg," Carl teased the other man congenially. "As a matter of fact, I AM sitting down. What's up?"

"Do you know how to reach Brian and Justin?"

Carl felt his blood suddenly run cold at that questions; if Alleghany County's lead prosecuting attorney was calling him, and asking about two of Debbie's "boys" in particular, it could only be related to one thing – or rather, one _man_. "What's he done now?" he asked curtly.

Greg sighed. "You're not going to fucking believe this," he told the cop. "There was an escape at the prison this morning."

"You're NOT going to tell me…"

"They escaped, Carl – BOTH of them!" he snarled, furious. "I can't even begin to tell you how fucking angry I am!"

"Shit! How is that possible? They were in a _high-security_ prison‼ I don't understand….."

"Well, if you have enough money, you can buy your way out of anything," Greg told him icily, cold fury seeping into his voice. "Seems they had at least one guard and a laundry man in on it, except for the only reward THEY got was a bullet instead of money."

Carl closed his eyes briefly in disbelief. "I can't believe this," he muttered, shaking his head. "Do they have any idea where they are?"

Greg huffed. "Well, they know where ONE of them is _already _– dead."

Carl started at this revelation. "Dead – how?"

"I'm not sure, but best I can tell when the guard and laundry man were shot, Prescott shot his own brother, too – do you fucking believe that?"

"At the prison during the escape?"

"No," Matthews divulged. "They found three bodies downstream from a bridge they think Prescott might have stopped at to get rid of his _excess baggage_."

"_Which_ Prescott?" Carl pressed, unsure which one Greg meant.

"We found the one Prescott brother with his prison uniform still on, so that helped identify him. That's the only positive thing that came out of this, Carl – it's _Lane_. At least the fucker that went after Justin and Brian is finally dead. But I'm worried about Aiden – I think he's just as capable as anyone else of going after them, too. After all, if it hadn't been for their testimony, neither brother would have wound up in jail. That would be enough for either one to seek revenge on them. We have to warn them, Carl. How do I get in touch with them? I tried to reach Brian at Kinnetik and through his cell but I was told he wasn't at the office and his cell goes straight to voicemail. And Justin must have a new cell number – the old one's telling me it's no longer in service. I have a feeling the way Brian is so protective around him, he made him get a new number after the whole thing with Prescott for security reasons."

Carl nodded in agreement. "What's the number you have for him?"

"555-2318."

"That's the same number I have for him," Carl verified as he flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex on his desk. I don't have his new number, then, but I bet Debbie probably would. Let me call her and see what I can find out."

"Do that," Greg urged him. "I need to reach them – NOW – before something happens. I've got a really bad feeling about this, Carl – really bad. If this man's capable of killing three people without a moment's hesitation – especially his own _brother _– shit, he won't let anything get in his way if he comes after them, too."

"Yeah, I agree," Carl told him. "I'll let you know. I'll call you back on your cell phone. And, Greg? I think it goes without saying that the same applies to _you_."

Greg sighed. "Yeah, I already thought of that. I've got several of my men watching my house – I'm not going to let _anything_ happen to my wife and kids. I've got a gun myself, though, and trust me, I won't have any problems using it if Aiden Prescott shows up. But I'm more worried right now about Brian and Justin – let me know, okay?"

"Sure thing," Carl assured him, as he quickly disconnected their phone. "Shit," he murmured again in disbelief; he knew he should probably tell Debbie what was going on, but he just couldn't – if she knew Brian and Justin were in danger, she would be worried sick. The last thing he needed right now was a distraction from what he needed to do – reach them immediately and get some police protection set up. Reaching inside his pocket for his cell phone, he flipped it open and dialed Debbie's number.

* * *

_Blackbird Lofts - 5:00 p.m._

Justin stood up once more from the couch and began to pace as nighttime began to approach, a frown creasing his face. "Where _are_ you, Brian?" He didn't know whether to be angry at the moment or worried; for now, he chose a combination of the two. He was angry and frustrated that he couldn't reach his husband – he had called him several times now and received his voicemail each time. He had already left several messages, starting with a curious one and then gradually changing from messages of irritation and then onto outright anger. He now had returned to clear worry, because as much as Brian could be inconsiderate at times, this was still not like him. When it came to something that he knew was so important to him, Brian would never have ignored him like this or overlooked it...

He contemplated what to do; he had called everyone he could think of, trying not to let the nagging worry come through in his voice but he was worried sick. He jumped a little, then, as he heard his cell phone chiming to alert him that a new text was coming in.

"Brian!" he thought instantly as he rushed over to the nearby coffee table to retrieve it. He felt a tremendous sense of relief flooding through him as he read the message:

_Sorry, Sunshine – Got held up unexpectedly. Come meet me for our anniversary dinner and I'll make it up to you with a big surprise. Limo's waiting outside. Hurry – I can't wait to see you. B_

Justin's heart leapt at the sentimental tone. He quickly searched for his leather jacket and threw his arms into it as he ran over to peer down at the large studio windows and smiled in delight as he noticed a shiny, white stretch limousine waiting by the curb just like Brian had said.

Eager to see what his wayward husband had in store for his anniversary surprise, he grabbed his keys and hurried down the steps to the lobby's entrance door, his present for Brian hastily forgotten. Forgotten by the excited blond, too, was the one thing Brian would have normally added to his text message – _4-5-9._

_

* * *

_

**_A/N: I know, I know - they took the uniforms off! Don't worry - it will be explained in time..._**


	4. Horror Unveiled

Justin tried not to overdo feasting on all the goodies he had found inside the limo that Brian had arranged for, but he was finding it difficult. His husband had managed to fully stock it with some of Justin's favorite, decadent treats: chilled jumbo, chocolate-covered strawberries, expensive champagne, even caviar, something that he had never tried before. After sampling a couple of bites of the outrageously-expensive food with a cocktail cracker, however, he had decided that perhaps his taste ran more toward the more common foods; he actually found the salty, rather slippery taste just a little revolting and had to work hard not to spit the food out before finally swallowing it.

Taking another sip of his champagne out of an expensive-looking, heavy crystal fluted glass, he forced himself to put the silver plate of strawberries back down on the fold-out tray compartment and lean back in the ivory, buttery-soft leather seat. Despite his attempt to engage the rather stern-looking, uniformed driver in conversation, the dark-haired, bearded man had been noticeably quite but polite. Justin had smiled at him in greeting and asked him where they were going, but apart from acknowledging him by name as he came out to the street and nodding as he held the door open for him, the only other thing the somber-looking driver had said was that he would just "have to wait – it's a surprise."

_Well, duh_, Justin thought, trying hard to figure out just what Brian had up his sleeve. He should have known that his husband would go to extravagant lengths to keep him tin he dark. Something told him he didn't just get "held up unexpectedly." Rather, something told him instead that Brian had planned this whole charade all along. It would be just like him to withhold this from him. All he knew was, though, he was definitely going to enjoy finding out what was in store for him, as he took one more sip of the fantastic-tasting liquor as it slipped smoothly down his throat.

As he luxuriated in the opulent surroundings, he closed his eyes in anticipation of his reunion with his handsome husband, the man he loved more than anything in the world and who had changed his entire life. He smiled, comfortable in the knowledge of how lucky he was and how happy Brian had made him.

_

* * *

_

On the outskirts of Pittsburgh - same time

Brian's first realization upon slowly emerging into consciousness was that he _hurt_. His head throbbed, his stomach was churning in knots, and his entire body ached. The second, even more perplexing notion, was the realization that he was sitting on a hard, wooden chair, his hands tied securely to the back of the structure and his lower limbs bound to the thick, stout legs. While made of wood, the material must have been of high quality, because he could readily tell immediately that he wasn't going to be able to move the chair even if he wanted to due to its weight.

Once he had _fully _regained consciousness, his next thought was just how the fuck he had gotten in the situation he was in; he wracked his mind to try and remember the last event he could recall. After several seconds, he could finally remember having lunch with some respective client at the swanky Gentlemen's Club downtown, and taking some sips of the drink the man had ordered for him. He had no real knowledge of just who this person had been, other than knowing his employee, Matheson, had set an appointment with the man on his calendar. Now, as it glanced around the dimly-lit, foreboding room, he couldn't help thinking if the bastard had slipped something into his drink.

If he _had_, what was he trying to do? Fuck knows Brian had been in enough kinky situations before, but never something like _this_. Looking around the room as he tried to get his bearings, he had no idea where he was, and no one seemed to be around. There were no sounds to be discerned, other than his ragged, painful breathing as he tried with difficulty to get his bearings, but it was no use; he was convinced he had never been in this place before in his life and from the expertly-bound wrappings around his arms and legs, he wasn't going anywhere without someone's help.

The room, composed of high, dark-wooden walls and a brass-metal, engraved ceiling, was almost dark, partly due to the dimly-light table lamp on the far side of the room and two pairs of thick, embroidered burgundy-colored curtain panels covering the windows. From his vantage point, Brian couldn't tell what time it was, but from the lack of light escaping from under the curtains, he guessed it had to be well after dark.

He tugged urgently at his bonds in a futile attempt to pull free, but it was useless. His sudden realization that it was his and Justin's wedding anniversary, and it had to be well past the time when he said he would be home, made him even more desperate to break free. Knowing Justin, he must be frantic with worry by now, especially with today's date. Because despite Brian's sometimes cavalier attitude regarding commitment and love, he had changed over the past couple of years and Justin knew he would never miss such an important date as their anniversary.

He strained against the chafing bonds around his hands, surmising they were comprised of some sort of strong rope fibers, hoping he could somehow loosen them enough to slide his hands through and free them. He could at least reach in his jacket and retrieve his cell phone and hopefully call Justin. But whoever had tied him up had done a masterful job, because there was no way he was going to be able to free himself.

He huffed out a breath of extreme frustration, silently cursing the bastard who had done this to him. "What do you fucking _want_ with me?" he finally growled aloud to no one in particular. His blood ran cold just then, however, as he heard a voice coming from out of the shadows to say, "You're just a means to an end, Kinney."

He recognized that voice; in fact, for as long as he lived he would never be able to forget it. It had haunted not only his life for the past couple of years but Justin's as well. His breath caught in his throat as he watched a shadowy figure slowly emerge from the darkened part of the room.

Prescott walked slowly toward his adversary, noting with satisfaction the brunet's scathing look of quiet fury etched on his face. "As charming as ever," he noted, smirking as he came to stand near Brian.

_A means to an end…_Brian stared up at the man he never thought he would have to see face-to-face again as he suddenly realized with horror just what Prescott meant. "This is never going to work," he growled, trying to sound convincing even though he knew with a sinking feeling that Prescott was right; he knew how much Justin loved him – as deeply as HE loved him. If anything would bring his lover out to face a man he had constantly lived in fear of, it would be because of that.

"Oh, no? I think it will work perfectly; it was very thoughtful of you, by the way, to put Justin's number on speed dial – it made my job so much easier. Isn't texting a wonderful thing?" he asked, chuckling softly at his ingenuity.

"You fucking piece of scum!" Brian snarled, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hatred, fury, and fear – fear for his husband. "I'll fucking _KILL_ you if you come within a hundred feet of him!"

Prescott walked closer as he towered over him and laughed. "I don't think you're in any position to do me any harm, big man," he snickered, leaning down so his face was within a few feet of the brunet's. "You've _had_ your play time, Kinney – now it's _my_ turn. Justin belongs with me – he always _has_."

"Justin NEVER belonged to you or anyone else! But he chose to marry ME – he loves ME!" Brian spat out; he reeled from the slap Prescott abruptly dealt to the side of his face as his head jerked back in response, but he nonetheless twisted his head back to stare defiantly up at his captor. "You can hit me all you want, Prescott, that's not going to change the fact that Justin hates you just as much as I do!"

Prescott clenched his fist, prepared to deliver yet another blow as Brian prepared for another assault; he was surprised, though, when Prescott smiled at him and shook his head to stand up and tower over him. "You know, you're really not worth it," the man decided. "I don't _need _to get myself dirty over you – I have more important preparations to make. My angel will be here soon, and then we can finally start our lives together."

Brian snorted in spite of his predicament. "There is no way that Justin will ever be with YOU," he declared resolutely. Internally, though, he was terrified; he knew Justin would do anything to protect him. _Please, Sunshine, don't come here…_he pleaded. He tried not to think that at that moment, the two of them should have been up on the rooftop of their home, enjoying Brian's surprise wedding anniversary gift to him. Instead, his heart was pounding in fear over what was about to happen. "You will never get out of here alive with him, you fucking piece of shit."

Prescott twisted his lips in amusement. "Oh, no? You might be surprised, Kinney. They all think I'm dead – why would they be looking for _me_, then? My brother always _was _a really stupid man."

Brian couldn't help asking, "How did you get out of prison, Prescott? You should'n't have come out of there except in a fucking pine box."

"Money can do amazing things for you, Kinney," he told Brian. "Every man can be bought."

"Not Justin," Brian told him. "He's not for sale."

Prescott walked over to a tall, narrow-shaped antique wooden table and picked up a tumbler to down some sort of liquid before answering, "I wouldn't expect him to be. But he has a conscience and some misguided loyalty to you. That's all I'll need. THAT'S his price."

Brian urgently pulled once more against his bonds, knowing somehow that Justin would be arriving soon – and walking straight into a trap. He watched intently as he heard a soft chime and saw Prescott flip his phone open to read a text message. His heart twisted in fear as he saw the man smile broadly.

"He's almost here, Kinney," he told Brian with an almost dreamy whisper. "I've waited so long for this."

Brian began to thrash harder in his makeshift prison, struggling desperately to break free from his bonds.

Prescott laughed, delighted at the other man's knowledge that he wouldn't be able to prevent what was about to happen – it almost was better than seeing Justin again, but not quite. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of being reunited with his soul mate once more.

Brian watched as Prescott walked over to what appeared to be a dark, wooden buffet chest and open the top drawer, retrieving a roll of something. As the man walked closer to him, he realized with dread what it was: duct tape.

"Can't run the risk of you warning my angel away," he told Brian, as he roughly ripped off a wide strip of the reflective, silver material and leaned over; the brunet could feel the man's hot breath on his face as he reached out toward him. Brian violently turned his head from side to side in an attempt to escape but it was no use; Prescott merely grabbed a large batch of his hair and pulled his head back long enough to slap the tape over his mouth and press it firmly over his lips to secure it in place.

As Prescott stood back to admire his work, he snickered. "Now who's the winner, Kinney?" Both men turned to look as a soft ribbon of headlights suddenly permeated the darkness through the thick, brocade tapestries.

Prescott smiled in delight, his body thrumming in anticipation over the thought of seeing the beautiful man that had captivated him from the instant he had seen him. "Have to go, Mr. Hot Shot. I have some much more _pleasurable_ business to attend to. I'll just tell Justin you're tied up," he said, laughing at his own joke as he walked toward the massive oak door and opened it.

As Brian watched the door close with a thud, he closed his eyes in torment at the thought of Justin being near that man again surfaced in his mind. He began to struggle anew over his predicament as he begged,_ please_, to whom he wasn't sure. He was normally a confident, self-assured, independent man when it came to everything, except one. _Please...help me...help JUSTIN..._

* * *

Justin noticed with excitement that the limo had finally turned into a driveway; he could hear the gravel crunching under the tires and the vehicle slowing to come to a stop, even though the darkly-tinted windows and the inky blackness of the moonless night didn't provide him with any way to see where he was. Knowing Brian, though, he knew it had to be somewhere special.

As the vehicle stopped and he heard the driver's door opening, he waited eagerly near the side door for it to open so he could at last be reunited with his husband. Several seconds later, the door swung open from the outside and the same, stern-looking uniformed man stood back to allow him to exit.

"This way, Mr. Taylor," the man said authoritatively, as he waited for Justin to lead. Justin hesitated for a second, wondering why everything in and around the house was shrouded in so much darkness before figuring Brian had some sort of stunt up his sleeve as usual and made his way gingerly toward the massive, front door.

As he stopped near it for the driver to catch up, he had a weird sense of déjà vu wash over him for some reason as he glanced at the heavy, iron, lion-headed door knocker before the bearded man walked up and simply turned the antique, metal knob to push the door open. "After you," he said curtly, sweeping his hand to indicate Justin should enter.

Justin took a deep breath, his nerves tingling inexplicably as he slowly entered the house's foyer. It immediately reminded him of some old, black-and-white Gothic mystery. The dark, paneled walls were extremely high, the tall, narrow windows he could see in one of the rooms off to the right were made of old, thick glass and adorned with thick, navy-blue curtains of some heavy brocade material. The room he appeared to be an old-fashioned sitting room or parlor, complete with Victorian stuffed chairs and a Queen Anne couch decorated in the same fabric. A fire was blazing in the stone fireplace, although he couldn't see anyone nearby.

Thinking this was a rather odd place for Brian to pick for their wedding anniversary, Justin turned to address the stoic driver. "Where's Brian?" he asked curiously, beginning to feel an odd sense of dread for some reason. This whole situation just didn't feel right to him…..

"This way," the man simply said again, as he turned to start walking farther down the hallway. Justin shook his head in frustration; why couldn't this man just answer his question? He sighed softly but nevertheless followed the other man farther down the narrow passageway. As they passed by a couple of other rooms, he noticed with some puzzlement that these rooms had similar layouts but the furniture in them were covered with sheets, much like someone would do if a house was unoccupied for a lengthy amount of time. Again, he felt this place was familiar in some odd sort of way, but he couldn't imagine why.

The two of them finally came to a stop in front of a nondescript, oak door with a crystal doorknob. The man rapped on the door three times, then paused before rapping another two times. If the entire place hadn't seemed so spooky, Justin would have actually laughed at the secret-agent antics, but he instead found a chill beginning to invade his body as he heard a voice saying, "Enter."

The voice didn't sound like Brian's but it _did_ sound familiar for some reason as he waited for the door to be opened. The driver turned the knob and opened the door slightly before he turned and instructed Justin, "Go on in."

Justin stared at him and licked his lips slightly in anxiety; why should he be feeling this way, he chided himself. This man was taking him to Brian, wasn't he? Thinking he was just being silly, he nodded and began to enter the room.

The limo driver abruptly closed the door behind him, leaving him alone as he jumped slightly in alarm; turning around again, he noticed the room was dimly lit and appeared to be some type of dining room. There was an ornate, crystal chandelier which was turned off hovering over the cumbersome-looking dining table which could have accommodated at least ten people; it was presently set, however, more intimately with two place settings at the very end, replete with crystal goblets, white fine china plates trimmed in gold and navy, gleaming silverware and a large, silver candelabra alit with five ivory-colored candles. The flickering of the flames served to give the entire room an almost eerie glow as the pattern bounced off the walls' shadows. A simple flower arrangement of blood-red roses and baby's breath set in a clear, crystal, rounded vase was sitting nearby, completing the romantic scene.

Justin smiled, both pleased but stunned that his husband had gone to all this trouble for him. He couldn't stand it anymore – he _had_ to see him to "properly" thank him. "Brian?" he called out tentatively. "Where _are_ you? Come on…enough games, Mr. Kinney," he scolded his lover lightly. "I want to hold you and kiss you all over," he purred huskily, knowing Brian would never be able to resist that offer.

"So do I, Angel," came the chilling reply as Justin's heart stopped in his throat. He _knew_ that voice instantly and it made his skin crawl in repulsion. He had never thought he would have to ever hear that voice again, or worse, see the man who it belonged to. As he watched frozen to the spot, however, he knew his worst nightmare had come true as he saw Lane Prescott slowly emerging from the relative obscurity of the back wall to stand closer to the table and gaze back at him, a slow smile forming on his face. "I've waited so long for this…"

Justin grabbed onto the back of a nearby chair for support, feeling a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea hit him as he closed his eyes momentarily and hoped, prayed, that this man standing in front of him wasn't real. As he slowly opened his eyes back up, however, he knew that he was and the realization hit him like a tsunami.

Justin couldn't speak as he stared back at Prescott; he couldn't move, he couldn't think. His brain was rapidly trying to decipher what was happening while another part of his brain was urgently trying to tell him something. As he realized what it was, the knowledge came crashing down around him. _Brian…._

At the thought of his husband, the words exploded from his lips. "Brian…..what have you done with him?" he asked urgently, his eyes almost pleading as he braved staring back into the man's face he detested. He couldn't believe as he looked into the green eyes of his tormentor that he had ever had genuine, caring feelings for this man, because if there ever was a face of evil, this man was it…

"Answer me!" he demanded, his eyes now flashing with worry. "Where is he, Lane?" At the sound of the other man's name escaping from his lips, Lane reacted like he had just poured some enchanting ambrosia down his throat, because his actually sighed.

"You don't know how long I've waited for you to say my name again, Angel," he whispered, smiling in pleasure.

Justin stared back at him like he was totally crazy, which he likely was. "Don't CALL me that!" he growled. "Answer my fucking question – WHERE IS BRIAN?" The longer the man didn't reveal the information about Brian's whereabouts, the more alarmed Justin was becoming by the second…

Lane shook his head in disappointment. "Now, Angel, don't get all worked up," he clucked. "The arrogant asshole is around. He's a little indisposed at the moment, though….."

Justin's throat ran dry. "What do you mean – _indisposed_?" he demanded. "Where IS he? If you've hurt him…" He glared back at Lane now, totally unconcerned that he may be putting himself in danger by his demands; his only thought at the moment was Brian and what had happened to him.

Lane gazed at him with a frown and narrowed brow, greatly perturbed that now that he and Justin were finally together again, his Angel's only concern was where his arrogant, cocky husband was. _Husband…_just the thought of that word made bile rise in his throat. No one deserved to put their hands on his Angel's body except him, much less deserve the title of _husband. _No matter, however – every problem could be rectified with the right incentive…Swallowing the sour taste down, he said, "Kinney is fine…..at least as fine as he can be."

Justin's heart almost stopped at that chilling statement. "What do you mean – _as fine as he can be_? What have you done to him?" He didn't dare come any farther toward the other man, but he wasn't going anywhere until he knew where Brian was.

Lane smirked. "Let's just say he wouldn't have come here willingly, so I gave him a little incentive to take a little nap beforehand. It's worn off now, though," he assured him, speaking just like he was talking about a little child who had been sick and was now on the mend.

Justin, however, wasn't satisfied with that statement. "I want to see him," he demanded. "Now." He folded his arms over his chest in defiance as he met the other man's stare evenly.

Lane sighed. "Our dinner is getting cold, Angel….I went to a lot of trouble to have nothing but the best prepared for you."

Justin shook his head in disbelief at this man's obtuseness. "You want me to have _dinner_ with you?"

Lane smiled. "Of course, Angel. It'll be only the beginning of our chance to get to know each other again. I've been looking forward so long to this," he whispered as he slowly began to advance toward the blond.

Justin's eyes widened as the man began to move toward him; he instinctively began to back away in self-defense as his body came smack up against a tall chest of some sort and he found himself with no place to escape.

His heart began to pound furiously as Lane continued to come closer until he was within a couple of feet of him. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered," the dark-haired man murmured in awe. He began to reach out his arms with the intention of taking Justin by the shoulders and bestowing a deep, passionate kiss on the plump, pink lips…..

Justin cringed as he pushed back against the cupboard. "Stay the fuck away from me!" he snarled as he tried to curl deeper into himself.

Lane didn't continue to advance but he didn't back away, either. "Now, Angel…..you're just tired after that trip….." he began soothingly.

"I am NOT tired, Lane! Why can't you _understand_? I _hate_ you, I don't want anything to _do_ with you, and I will NEVER BE with you! Now, please, let me and Brian GO‼" Justin's pulse was beating rapidly and he began to breath in quick pants of nervousness as he noticed the other man's face darkening.

"Oh, make no mistake, Angel…you WILL be with me, willingly or not." As Justin cringed, the other man reached one hand out to gently brush it against the blond's cheek before pulling back and saying, his voice hard as steel, "Either you agree to stay with me or your precious little hubby doesn't get out of here alive."

Justin swallowed a knot of terror in his throat at the way Prescott made the statement so matter-of-factly; by the man's tone, there was no mistake that he would carry out his threat. "I want to see him," Justin still whispered defiantly. At that moment, his only concern was the life of the man he loved deeply and completely with all his heart. "If you don't let me see him, you might as well kill me, too, because I won't stay with you," he told the other man, his voice determined. "I'd rather be dead, too."

Lane stared back at him searchingly, trying to decide if Justin meant what he said. "And if I DO let the asshole go? You'll stay with me willingly?"

Justin closed his eyes as tears threatened to fall; he wasn't about to waste them on this scum, however. He finally swallowed hard and said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Yes. You let Brian go and I'll do...whatever you want."

Lane's heart leapt at that declaration; finally, what he had desired for so long was within his grasp. "_Anything,_ Angel?" he pressed.

Justin stared back at him in disgust. He took a deep breath of resignation and pain before painfully whispering a single word. "Yes."

Lane finally nodded as he smiled in delight. "Very well….I'll let you see him, but just for a minute. And don't try anything, Angel…or I WILL do what I said."

Justin nodded that he understood, pursing his lips to keep from crying. His only thought at the moment was seeing Brian as Lane turned around and walked a few steps, pausing for a couple of seconds in a silent signal for Justin to follow.

Justin began to follow the other man toward the door, waiting anxiously for the dark-haired man to open it and lead him to Brian. As he opened the door, he told Justin, "Stay with me, Angel. And do what I say." The unspoken threat inherent in that simple set of instructions was clear as Justin nodded in understanding.

They turned to the right and walked back down the hallway to pause at an elaborately-curved staircase. "This way," Lane told him as he began to ascend the steps. Justin walked closely behind him, again feeling an odd sense of familiarity with his surroundings for some reason but unable to place the reason why. They finally reached the dimly-lit landing as Lane turned to the right again. "Down here," was the curt command as Justin followed behind him once more.

They walked to the end of the narrow, hard-wood hallway bedecked on both sides with old-fashioned, oval pictures of ladies and men dressed in black and white, stodgy-looking garb before reaching the last door on the left. "It's me," Lane called out to someone as Justin held his breath.

As the door was opened, Justin couldn't see inside because Lane was standing directly in front of him. As he moved deeper inside, however, Justin was finally able to see around him. What he saw made his heart almost stop; Brian was indeed in the room, tied hand and foot to a wooden chair, his face bruised and red and his hair tousled. The most horrifying sight of all, however, was the large strip of silver duct tape slapped over his mouth.

"Brian!" Justin cried out as he began to rush toward his husband; Brian's head, which had been lolling on his chest, instantly popped up and his eyes widened in terror as he noticed the person he both dreaded and desperately needed to see.

"Let me go!" Justin snarled as Lane grasped his slender shoulders from behind and held him immobile against his chest. "You son of a bitch‼ I said LET ME GO!" Justin was never as furious, nor as terrified out of his mind, as he was at that moment. He tried to kick Lane from behind in a violent bid to break free, but it was no use; he was simply no match for the other man's strength.

Brian's eyes locked on Justin's as he drank the sight of him in, but he was scared shitless that his worst fear had come true; Prescott had used him as bait to lure Justin here and now they were _both_ captives. He struggled to say something against the tape, but his voice merely came out as an angry, garbled mess.

"You _promised_, Lane!" Justin snapped, reminding him. "I said…..LET ME GO‼!"

Lane was silent for a few seconds, still holding tightly onto Justin before he finally said, warning him, "Five minutes, Angel. You have five minutes. Remember our bargain – you keep your end and I'll keep mine." He was repulsed by the thought of Kinney touching his baby, though, so he had no intention of releasing the man from his bonds. He nodded at an enormous, armed beefy man standing guard over Brian before he turned and walked toward the door. "Don't think of planning anything, Angel….remember what I said. And he'd better still be tied up when I return. We'll be right outside this door," he added in warning, before the two men walked over to the door, opened it, and closed it behind them, finally leaving Brian and Justin alone.

The second the door was closed, Justin rushed over to Brian and tried as gently as he could to pull the tape away from his mouth. Brian cried out slightly, anyway, as his lips were finally free to speak to the man whose heart had firmly captured his. "Justin!" he cried out. "You've got to get out of here!"

Justin kneeled down beside Brian and began to run his hands over the man's face as if he were memorizing each detail. "Brian," he murmured. "I was so scared for you…so scared," he whispered before he placed both hands on either side of Brian's face and began to kiss him fervently.

Brian's arms longed to hold Justin in an embrace and whisper assurances that everything would be all right, but he was terrified for his lover. As they finally broke apart, Brian said, "Justin…..listen to me! Untie me and I can help get us OUT of here!" As he noticed Justin hesitating, he beseeched, "Justin – please – untie me!"

Justin's eyes filled with tears of frustration and pain. "I…I can't, Brian," he whispered. "He said he would hurt you."

Brian shook his head as tears began to well up in his own eyes. "Justin….please…just untie me and I can help get us out of here," he repeated as he pleaded with him. He knew Lane didn't want HIM – he never HAD – but the thought of just what he wanted with Justin made his whole body shiver in dread.

Rivulets of tears began to fall down Justin's cheeks. "I….I can't, Brian," he whispered, shaking his head. "He said he would hurt you," he repeated, trying hard to make Brian understand.

"Justin….." Brian wasn't beneath out-and-out begging if it was necessary to save the man he loved more than his own life. "Justin, he wants me out of the way no matter what," he told his husband. "You have to untie me – it's our only chance of getting out of here." _Please, Sunshine, I've got to make you understand….._

But Justin couldn't take that chance – if there was any chance that Brian could get out of this alive, he had to take that risk. "No, Brian," he whispered, just as the door opened and Lane and his henchman returned. "Justin..." Brian cried out in frustration and worry.

"Time's up, Angel," Prescott told Justin as he walked over to take Justin's hand to pull him up.

As Justin tried to pull away from him, Brian strained against his binding as he snarled, "Don't you put your dirty fucking hands on him, you piece of shit‼"

To Justin's horror, Lane reached down and delivered a resounding slap across Brian's face in response, his eyes flashing with aggravation. "I've heard _enough _from you, you asshole!" he cried out furiously, as he reached over to a nearby table and ripped off another piece of duct tape. "We'll just take care of that little problem right now..."

Justin was still firmly held in Lane's grasp as he pleaded, "Please, Lane…"

Brian's eyes peered back at the other man with deep hatred as once again he found himself unable to speak as Prescott slapped another piece of the tape over his mouth.

Lane glared back at his rival, thoughts of reneging on his agreement with Justin foremost in his mind. He knew, however, that he would only get Justin to cooperate if he followed through on his promise, and the thought of not having Justin in his arms and in his bed was too awful to contemplate. "Take care of him," he told the goon standing nearby as the other man nodded in understanding.

Brian furiously writhed against the ropes as Justin struggled to stay in the room with him; Lane merely was too strong to prevent him from being pulled away, however. "What are you going to do?" Justin asked him as he stared back at Brian, unable to remove his gaze from him. "Remember what I said, Lane," he reminded the other man. "If something happens to him, I'll _never_ go with you, no matter WHAT you do."

Lane nodded his head at his henchman, ignoring Justin's question. "Carry out my instructions," he told him. "And after he's gone to "sleep," dump him somewhere appropriate." The man nodded as Justin's eyes widened in horror, wondering just what was in store for Brian. Was Lane going to follow through with his promise to not harm Brian? Or was he going to put him "to sleep" permanently?

As Lane's underling reached in to extract a hypodermic needle from his pocket, Justin breathed a slight sigh of relief that hopefully Lane WAS going to keep his word, although by now the other man's word was far from solid. Just before he was tugged out of the room, he looked back one more time at Brian, whose eyes were large and wet with fright, and silently mouthed to the brunet the words he had longed to tell him before: "I love you," before he was led away and Lane slammed the door.


	5. Racing Against Time

Justin stared down at the food on his plate; he couldn't eat a bite even if he wanted to. All his thoughts were concentrated on one thing – _Brian_. He tried to swallow the bitter, sour taste in his throat but found that he couldn't. His eyes wouldn't even focus on what was being served – food was the _last_ thing he wanted right now.

"You're not eating, Angel," Lane softly chided him from his side; he was sitting at the head of the table but close enough to Justin to touch him as he reached over to grasp Justin's sleeve.

At the first tactile contact, the blond flinched as if he had been struck; he found this man's touch to be so repulsive, it was all he could do to remain in the same room with him. How he was going to stay here, per his deal with the devil, he had no idea. He only knew that if he had bought Brian some time – and his _life_ – for now, it would be worth it. Unbeknownst to his captor, however, he had absolutely no intention of staying with him one second more than he was forced to.

"Now, Angel, that's no way to repay my hospitality," Lane told him. He eyed his guest carefully; Justin was even more beautiful than he had recalled, even though his face was registering an expression of pain and wariness at the moment. Perhaps he needed to remind his love of something. "You know," he said in a no-nonsense, business tone of voice, "Mark has Brian's cell phone." He noticed Justin look up at the mention of Kinney's name, which only made Lane even _more_ perturbed. "He will follow whatever orders I instruct him to do. So I suggest that you eat your dinner – and be a little more _appreciative _of my efforts here."

Justin turned his head back to his plate and closed his eyes, refusing to meet Lane's stare. His stomach lurched at the thought that Lane might renege on his "agreement" not to hurt Brian after all. Terrified at the thought that the man might just go through with putting Brian "to sleep" _permanently,_ he forced himself to speak, trying hard to keep the bitter resentment and anger out of his voice. "I'm….not hungry," he managed to say as civilly as he could; he still refused to meet Lane's gaze, however, knowing that if he looked back at him, the man would readily see the obvious revulsion and hatred in his face.

"Not hungry?" Lane probed sharply. "For food...or for ME?" He was indignant that Justin didn't instantly find him irresistible, just as he thought of _him_ that way. "Kinney has brainwashed you," the man insisted, deciding that could be the only logical explanation. "He has poisoned your mind against me."

Justin wanted so badly to tell this man exactly what he thought of him and his "theories," and to tell him he could go straight to Hell, but he was afraid; yes, partly for himself, but more for Brian. Until he could be sure that Brian was all right, he would have to bite his tongue and keep his caustic, truthful comments to himself. He was dreading what _else_ he might have to do at the hands of this madman. God, please, not that, he thought, as a terrible thought struck him. He _had_ to stall for time somehow….

"How did you know it was our wedding anniversary?" he asked quietly, remembering the earlier text message he had received. He noticed that Lane's face darkened distinctly at the mention of the word.

"Just because I was in prison at Kinney's hands didn't mean newspapers weren't available," he told Justin. "I know everything's that happened to you since we met. You've become quite the successful artist, haven't you, Angel?" he stated, his eyes boring intently into the set of startled, blue ones. "That didn't surprise me, though – I knew from the start how talented you were. I wasn't happy, though, that you let your good judgement be clouded by that asshole when he forced you to marry him. I will have to correct that immediately before he misleads you any further."

Justin's face paled as he realized that even though he had been physically separated from Lane, the man had still been stalking him from a distance. His false sense of security had merely been an illusion all along.

Trying another tactic but not wanting to upset him, he said quietly, "Lane…..I'm tired. Please…..I need some rest." _And to get as far away from you as physically possible…._

Lane studied him scrupulously. Justin _did_ look a little pale to him. He still looked undeniably beautiful, though; he always did. This past year being apart from him had simply appeared to make Justin mature into an even more attractive man as he drank in the sight of his love.

"Very well, Angel," he finally declared as he stood up from the table. "I'll show you to our bedroom. I had it remodeled just for you and me."

Justin felt like he had been hit in the gut. _Our _bedroom. No, please…..

"Could I take a shower?" he asked, saying the first thing that popped into his mind; anything to bide time for now.

Prescott held out his hand and smiled. "Of course, Angel – whatever you desire. I'll join you," he whispered seductively, his eyes filled with lust.

Justin's pulse raced in fear. He had no intention of taking a shower with this man, now or ever. But how was he going to prevent it? How far could he push this invisible boundary before the man pushed back? And what would be the consequences? He watched as Lane continued to hold out his hand expectantly, waiting for Justin to accept it just like they were some lovers about to embark on an exciting journey. He again forced a look of disgust from appearing on his face, but he refused to take this man's hand. Just the thought of his touch on his skin made his flesh crawl.

"Lane," he said softly, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "It's been over a year since I saw you. It's…..going to take us a while to get _reacquainted_. Please – let me have a little more time. This is all so unexpected and abrupt." He prayed that there was at least one small sliver of humanity left in this man to connect to as he waited with his breath caught in his throat for the other man's answer.

Prescott studied his companion, searching his face for his true feelings. He felt a rush of excitement that Justin was at least acknowledging finally that they did, in fact, belong together; he just needed a little more time to come to grips with the fact. He _knew_ that Kinney had merely manipulated him into their marriage; that had to be the only explanation as to why he had agreed to it. He knew how persuasive and powerful the other man could be. Well, at last HE had the upper hand, and now that he had his Angel where he belonged, he would never let him go again. That didn't mean he couldn't understand how rattled all this must have made the man he adored.

"I understand, Angel," he said to Justin's enormous relief, nodding as he reluctantly dropped his hand to his side. "I'll show you to the master bathroom, so you can take your shower. I'll be waiting for you downstairs in the drawing room by the fire when you get finished. I've taken the liberty of stocking the walk-in closet in our bedroom with all the clothing you'll need. I've hung out on the dressing room door what I'd like for you to wear – I made sure all the clothing would compliment your fair complexion and blue eyes perfectly." He smiled, almost sickly sweet now as he added in a whisper, "I can't wait to see you wearing it."

Justin turned his head slightly and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds to compose himself; if he didn't get away from this man soon, he knew he was going to vomit from the nausea churning in his stomach. He was actually thankful at that moment that he hadn't eaten any dinner, because if he had, it wouldn't have been in his stomach for long.

"This way, Angel," Prescott cooed, taking a few steps toward the dining room's exit. He turned to pause at the doorway to wait for Justin to join him.

Justin took a breath before pushing his chair back and slowly rising from the table, his dinner completely untouched and cold. He walked hesitantly toward the other man, eyeing him warily to try and determine if he, too, was armed just like Mark, the man who had taken Brian away. He didn't see any gun thankfully, but that didn't mean the man wasn't capable of violence; he already knew from past experience what he was capable of. Even if he _wasn't_ armed, though, it didn't matter – at the moment, Lane had a much more effective weapon hanging over his head – Brian's life.

Justin could almost feel the other man's heat pouring from him as he got closer to him. He stopped when he got to within a couple feet of Prescott, praying silently that he didn't invade his space any further. He was relieved when Lane nodded and turned to proceed down the hallway toward the imposing spiral staircase they had descended earlier for dinner.

As they walked toward the stairs, Justin immediately noticed the front door located nearby. Had Mark bothered to lock it when he and Brian had left? Dare he try to escape when they went by? His eyes shifted furtively over to the massive, wooden door as they slowly walked ever closer to it.

"Don't even think about it, Angel," he heard a steely voice say beside him as he felt a chill permeate his body. "I had this house completely rewired with a state-of-the-art security system before I escaped. If you so much as touch the doorknob, I'll know about it. You wouldn't want me to get mad, would you?" He waited by the stairs for Justin to catch up to him. "You first," he told the blond. "Until I know that asshole doesn't have any more influence over you, I'll have to watch you closely."

Justin's heart was pounding; this man no longer resembled the Lane Prescott he had first encountered approximately two years ago. This man was merely a fanatical, obsessed soul residing in a shell of someone he used to know. He nodded slightly to indicate he understood before he slowly passed by the other man and began to ascend the steps.

As they arrived at the top landing, Lane held his hand out toward the left. "This way," he said, again waiting for Justin to lead. Justin slowly walked down the hallway with his hands clenched tightly beside him until he heard Lane say from behind, "Last door on the left."

Justin stopped near the indicated dark, wooden door and turned the glass knob to open it as he observed a spacious, towering room complete with a vaulted ceiling, a king-sized, masculine-looking canopy bed and a huge, bay window that was presently covered with custom-tailored drapes. There was a sitting area in an alcove nearby containing a Queen Ann settee and two matching, stuffed chairs and another fireplace, also presently ablaze just like the one downstairs.

To his astonishment, as his gaze rose above the flickering flames, he realized that the large, ornately-framed painting currently displayed over the stone fireplace was the one that Lane had bid $50,000 for during the Gay & Lesbian Benefit two years ago with the stipulation that Justin have dinner with him. How he wished he had never agreed to do that now….

"Yes, it's your painting, Angel," Lane softly confirmed. "I've had it in storage until the day I could properly display it again. I've waited so long for this day, and now it's here at last," he said, beaming proudly. His body was on fire with need and desire for this man; he could hardly wait to finally consummate their relationship, just like he had hoped to do so long ago before that arrogant asshole, Brian Kinney, had interrupted his plans. Well, that would not be an issue now – at last he had who he wanted and it wouldn't be long now before they knew each other intimately, body and soul.

Justin turned to face the other man; he was taken aback to see that Prescott had somehow crept even closer to him, almost close enough to reach out and touch him. He instinctively shrank back as far away from him as he could; he could feel the heat of the flames warming his back quickly as he stood there in dread for what he feared the other man was thinking. The look of outright lust was almost pouring from Prescott now as his eyes raked over the blond's lithe form. Even though he was fully dressed, at that moment Justin felt more naked than he had ever felt before as he felt the weight of the other man's openly-admiring stare.

"The…the bathroom?" Justin reminded him quietly, hoping to break the other man's pointed gaze. "I really could use a hot shower."

Lane finally nodded, his concentration slightly interrupted by Justin's voice. He tilted his head over toward a closed door to Justin's far left. "Over there, Angel," he told the blond. "Anything you might need you'll find in there. I'll have some brandy ready for us downstairs when you're done. Don't keep me waiting for long," he rasped out; there was no doubt in Justin's mind that the man was issuing that as a warning that he had better not take longer than necessary.

He simply nodded at Prescott, who stood there for several seconds staring at him before he finally turned and walked toward the door to leave.

As the other man thankfully disappeared shortly thereafter, Justin stood there, frozen, for a while before his composure finally broke; he walked over and sat down on the bed as the sobs poured over him in waves; sobs of anger, fear, and pain, but most of all, sobs of worry and heartache over his soul mate, the only man he had ever loved and ever will. _Brian…I love you. Only you…Hear me, Brian, and be strong for me_, he pleaded silently_._

He sat there for several minutes, his head in his hands, before his weeping finally diminished. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth on the bed for a while longer, trying to pretend it was his husband's strong bands of loving protection enveloping him in a cocoon, before he finally stood up and walked over to the bathroom.

_

* * *

_

On the Outskirts of Pittsburgh – Same time

Brian groaned as he tried to sit up and a wave of nausea hit him; his back was wet and cold from lying on the hard pavement, for how long he couldn't tell. He knew it was still night, because except for the starlight shining dimly overhead through the peeks of the clouds, it was pitch black. There were no headlights, streetlights, or any other means of illumination to help reveal his whereabouts.

For a few seconds, his mind was hazy as he tried to recall just how he had gotten here; the last thing he remembered, he had been having dinner with a potential new client. He had become dizzy and nauseous, then, too, before…..

His heart suddenly began to beat furiously as the events of the past few hours abruptly gelled in his mind; his drink had apparently been spiked and he had wound up at some house with Prescott, the man he thought he would never have to see again, the man who had relentlessly pursued Justin tenaciously, to the point where he had kidnapped him and…

Brian suddenly sat up, completely ignoring the wave of dizziness and turmoil the action caused as he realized in a terrible epiphany what had happened earlier – Prescott had Justin _again_. Only this time the man had completely lost whatever bit of sanity he had retained before; this man was a psychopath and Brian was sure he would stop at absolutely nothing to be with Justin this time.

"Justin," he called out as he balanced his upper body with his arms, although he knew his husband couldn't possibly hear him. "Where _are_ you?" he wailed helplessly. He reached inside his pocket for his phone but he knew it wouldn't be there. After all, that had been what Prescott had used to lure Justin to come there.

He shook his head; he HAD to clear it to think – every second was precious and it could mean the difference between life and death for Justin. What could he do? He decided first he had to try and stand up – then he had to go find help somehow. He braced himself on his elbows as he fought to regain some stability and control his chaotic thoughts. He forced his breathing to slow down, realizing he would be of no help to Justin if he were passed out here or in a hospital bed somewhere. At the thought of the man he loved and where he was, he tried not to think about what Prescott might presently be doing to him; there would be time later to dwell on that horrible issue, but at the moment he had to get moving.

He took a few seconds to listen to his surroundings, hoping for something, _anything _that might indicate he was near a populated place, but there was nothing except the sounds of crickets and the occasional rustling of the leaves nearby.

He sat still as his equilibrium slowly returned to a more normal state before he ever so gingerly began to rise to his feet. He swayed slightly as he finally stood on his feet but at least he didn't fall down. Now that he was standing, he could take in more of his locale, but it was still no use; there wasn't enough light nearby to see what was close at hand, and he didn't recognize any of what he could see. Hoping, then, that either a car would come by soon or he could locate a home or business somewhere, he slowly shuffled his feet down the road, praying that he would find a way to help the man he loved in time.

_

* * *

_

Pittsburgh – Home of Carl and Debbie

Debbie began to rise from her position on the couch as she heard someone knocking on her door, but Carl motioned for her to stay put. He walked quickly over to the door and peered outside to observe Justin's mother standing there. She peered back at him in concern as she waited for him to open the door.

"I got here as fast as I could," she said as she came rushing in. She noticed immediately that she and Carl weren't alone. She, of course, knew Debbie quite well, but the other man, while familiar, wasn't as recognizable to her.

As she stood there, however, the need to recall his name became irrelevant. "Hello, Mrs. Taylor," the man said as he rose. "I don't know if you remember me – I'm Greg Matthews from the Alleghany County Prosecutor's Office."

Jennifer smiled at him, but her eyes instantly went on alert as she noticed Debbie's worried expression. "Yes, I remember how helpful you were to Brian and Justin during the trial," she told him, nodding, as she shook hands with him. "I don't understand, though – what's going on? Is something wrong?"

Carl and Greg exchanged worried glances as Debbie quietly said, "Tell her, Carl….she needs to know. Maybe she can help us."

Carl nodded. "Why don't you sit down next to Debbie, Jennifer?" he asked gently. What he was about to tell her was not going to be pleasant.

Jennifer slowly did as she was asked, peering over at Debbie who was unable to meet her gaze and was uncharacteristically quiet all of a sudden. "What _is_ it?'' she whispered to her friend, realizing somehow that this was bad – _very_ bad. The last time she had seen this expression on Carl and Greg's faces was when….. "Oh, My God!" she exclaimed. "This is about HIM, isn't it?" she asked urgently, realizing with horror why they must be here. "What has he DONE?"

Carl then asked her the question she never wanted to hear. "When was the last time you saw or talked to your son, Jennifer?"

Her blood ran cold at the tone in Carl's voice, so authoritative, so serious, so….police like. "I….I just saw him earlier today," she told them. "For lunch – at the diner, in fact. He seemed fine – happy – it's his and Brian's one-year wedding anniversary today," she explained, as she noticed Debbie gasping in realization and shaking her head as she realized the meaningfulness of it; she had completely forgotten the significance of today's date.

Jennifer observed with alarm that Debbie's eyes were filling with tears. "What? Tell me!" she demanded; she was getting scared to death now. "What's happened? Debbie?" she said sharply, staring at her friend. "For God's sake – tell me what's going ON! Has something happened to Justin?"

Debbie reached over to take her hand in hers. "Honey," she began quietly, stumbling over her words.

"Let me tell her, Debbie," Greg offered; he could tell Debbie would never be able to get through her news without faltering. "I got a call from the Alleghany Correctional Facility a little while ago – they told me that Lane Prescott and his brother, Aiden, had managed to escape from the prison earlier today."

Now it was Jennifer's turn to gasp as her face turned white. "No…how is that _possible?_ They were in a high-security lockup‼" She turned her head to look at Carl for an explanation.

Carl shook his head in disgust. "Believe me, Greg and I both asked the same question. But unfortunately, no matter _how_ secure a facility is, if you have enough money stocked away, there's always someone willing to be bought for the right price. Two of them, though, paid the ultimate price – or should I say three."

Jennifer's blood ran cold. "What are you talking about, Carl?" She felt Debbie squeezing her hand, trying somehow to transfer some strength to her as she waited for the detective's response to her question.

He hesitated briefly and glanced at Greg, who nodded his indication for him to continue; she needed to know all of it, unfortunately. "The two of them killed a security guard and a laundry truck driver who were helping them. Then Aiden Prescott apparently turned on his own brother and killed Lane, too. Their bodies were found earlier today downriver from a bridge that's about 20 miles from the prison. He was identified from the prison uniform he was wearing."

Jennifer's mouth fell open and she shook his head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Not only did her son's tormentors escape from prison, but one of them had killed three others, including his own brother? It was all too much for her to comprehend. "My God…" The first question Carl had asked her jumped back into her mind as she asked urgently, "Justin…..you asked me about Justin. Didn't someone call him to warn him what was going on?" Her heart sank as she saw the others' expressions. "What?" She turned to her friend. "Debbie?"

"We…..tried to call Justin – AND Brian, Jennifer, ever since Carl called me to get Sunshine's new cell number. Neither one of them have answered their phones since we started trying to reach them."

Carl walked over to sit down next to Debbie in one of their stuffed recliner chairs. "It appears you were the last person to see Justin," he told her. "Do you have any idea at all where he was headed after he left?"

She shook her head helplessly. "No," she whispered in despair. "I know he got some sort of text from Brian while we were eating – he said Brian did that from time to time just to check up on him and make sure he was okay." Her eyes watered as she recalled what Justin had told her about their "secret" message. This couldn't be happening – not after everything they had been through…..fate wouldn't be that cruel to them….. "We've got to find them, Carl," she pleaded, her voice barely audible. "My God….we have to find them _now_. I just know something's wrong."

Debbie nodded. "I know, Honey, I know," she murmured. "Carl's already issued an APB to search for them as well as that fucking Prescott. Brian won't let anything happen to Sunshine, though – I'm sure of it."

Jennifer nodded, trying fervently to believe it. Yes, normally Brian would defend her son with his own life, if necessary, but the Prescott brothers were no ordinary men. One of them had even killed the other; no, if Aiden Prescott was anything like his brother, he was evil incarnate. "There must be something more we can do," she said. "You've tried Kinnetik and their loft in Lawrenceville? Justin's studio? His friends? Brian's friends? Daphne? Maybe he's tried to call her at medical school." Her son and the likable, brown-haired young woman had remained the closest of friends, but Daphne's recent decision to attend an out-of-town pre-med school meant they had to endure a long-distance friendship for now.

"Yeah…..we've tried everyone, Jennifer, including Daphne; even all of the other art galleries Justin regularly does business with. You're the last person who has seen or spoken to him," he confirmed. "No one's seen Brian, either, since early afternoon. We have a state-wide APB out on Prescott – if he's in the State somewhere, we'll find him eventually."

Jennifer swallowed the lump in her throat. "What else can we do?" she pleaded. "There must be something."

As Debbie wrapped her free hand around Jennifer's shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze, Carl told them softly, "Pray, Jennifer. Pray. For now, that's the only other thing we can ALL do."

* * *

Brian slowly stumbled farther and farther down the unfamiliar road, each step an agonizing trial of pain. His arms and legs ached constantly where they had been bound earlier, but it was nothing like the ache he felt in his heart. _Justin….where are you? Help me find you….._

As he continued to walk down the asphalt ribbon, he kept replaying the earlier events in his mind. Despite how many times he thought about what had transpired, however, he didn't find himself anywhere closer to determining just where he had been held. He was unconscious both when he was taken to the house and when he was dumped on the side of the road later, so he had no way of knowing how long the drive had been either way. It was impossible at the moment to know if he was even in Pennsylvania at all; for all he knew, he could be in another state at the moment.

His ears suddenly honed in on a noise that was slowly growing louder. He stopped, trying hard to figure out what the noise was; it was definitely something mechanical, he decided, but what? Several seconds later, his heart began to beat faster in his chest as he turned to see the reflection from a pair of headlights off in the distance, coming closer. At that moment, he decided he had no choice – he HAD to get this driver's attention and trust that they would help him. He had an awful feeling that time was running out for Justin if he didn't….

As the car quickly rushed toward him, he frantically began to wave his arms, despite the wave of stabbing pain emanating from his tired, exhausted limbs. "Hey!" he shouted, as he continued to try and get the driver's attention as the vehicle came closer. "Help me!" he pleaded, not worrying about his image for once. "Stop!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, as his eyes filled with tears of desperation when the car rushed by him.

He took a deep breath of despair of hopelessness, just as he saw the vehicle begin to imperceptively slow down. His heart leapt to his throat as he watched it come almost to a complete stop and slowly turn around to head back in his direction. _Please….._he pleaded silently as the vehicle came directly toward him.

He watched as a dark-colored sedan pulled up alongside him and a window slowly opened partway. A somewhat nervous-looking, graying older man seated in the driver's seat next to a woman who appeared to be around the same age asked him, "Is something wrong? Do you need help?"

Brian sagged against the side of the car in relief as the woman gasped in shock at his reaction. "Son? Are you all right?" she called over to him, startled. She turned to the man to ask, "What should we do? He looks terrible. Honey, open the door and help him," she directed him.

The man assessed the situation for a few seconds before coming to a decision and opening the car door. As he moved to grasp Brian around the shoulders to hold him up, Brian managed to gasp out the words "Carl Horvath" and "police" to his good Samaritan before he promptly fell to the ground in a heap.


	6. A Trip to Hell

_Alleghany General Hospital – Downtown Pittsburgh_

A cadre of several people, some in police uniforms and some not, rushed into the emergency room doors of the hospital, attracting the attention of several others waiting to be seen by the doctors there.

"Excuse me," Carl said to the lobby registration employee, as he flipped open his official identification. "I'm Detective Carl Horvath with the Pittsburgh P.D.," he told the woman, who noticed with surprise the several other people huddled closely around the man. "I was told you brought in a Brian Kinney."

The woman studied the man's badge before glancing back up into the set jaw of his face. "Yes," she replied. "The doctor told me to let him know when you arrived." She quickly picked up the phone to contact the nurses' station inside. A few seconds later, she hung up, adding, "Someone will be right out."

Carl nodded, turning to some of the group beside him. "Just hang on, everybody," he said evenly, trying to calm the two women in particular who stood close by. "She said someone would be out shortly."

Jennifer bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from falling. "Did they tell you how he is?" she asked. "It HAS to have something to do with Prescott, I just know it. We have to find out what happened." Thoughts of where her son was – and especially what was happening to him – couldn't help invading her mind.

Debbie placed her hand around Jennifer's shoulders and gave it a squeeze; being in the emergency room again just brought back horrible memories of another time, when she wasn't sure her son would survive the bombing at Babylon. Back then, Brian had been there to comfort her and hold her hand; now the man who had served to help get her through that awful time was now a patient himself. She couldn't believe that this was happening to the man who she had always thought of as her other son.

"I don't know any more than you do," Carl told Jennifer and Debbie. "All I know is that they identified Brian from his driver's license and the older couple that found him called 911 and said he mentioned my name before he passed out."

"Detective Horvath?" The three of them turned to see a middle-aged man dressed conservatively in a light gray, long-sleeved dress shirt and a pair of charcoal-colored linen pants striding up to them. From the stethoscope draped around his neck and the identification badge pinned to his shirt, it was apparent he was a physician.

He reached out to shake Carl's hand as the detective took it. "I'm Doctor Meadows," he told the group. "I'm the physician taking care of Mr. Kinney."

"How _is_ he, Doctor?" Carl asked him as the group of others listened intently.

The doctor rubbed a hand through his hair nervously. "Well, I can't really discuss specifics without a power of attorney or a court order," he told the group that included Carl, Debbie, Jennifer, and Greg Matthews, the prosecuting attorney in Prescott's case. "But he's very agitated – he keeps insisting he needs to see you. He keeps saying someone named Justin's in trouble. Do you have any idea what he's talking about? He won't calm down until he sees you, so I'm having trouble treating him adequately. I want to give him a sedative, but he's fighting me tooth and nail."

The three friends exchanged a worried look at the mention of Justin's name before Carl told him, "Yeah, unfortunately I have a good idea what he's talking about." He glanced over at Jennifer before asking, "Can we see him? It's extremely important."

The doctor nodded. "I don't think I have any choice," he said ruefully. "He just woke up a little while ago, and the first thing out of his mouth was this other man's name and then your name; it's clear he's not going to cooperate until he talks to you. Come with me," he told the detective. He glanced over at the worried faces of the rest of his party who were about to follow him before adding somewhat apologetically, "The rest of you will have to wait out here – hospital policy for ER patients."

Jennifer let out a sigh of frustration, realizing this doctor couldn't possibly know what was at stake; she was extremely anxious to see her son-in-law, but was also worried about what Brian would have to say. "Please, doctor," she pleaded. "Justin's my son. He's missing – this man is my son's husband. Please let me go with you."

The doctor hesitated briefly, a little taken aback at the mention of the other man being his patient's _husband; _as he continued to study the woman's anguished face, however, he knew there was no way he could deny her request. "All right," he decided. "But just the two of you." He held his hand out to motion for them to join him as he turned to walk back through the double swinging doors.

Debbie nodded as she looked at the two of them. "Go," she whispered, motioning with her hand urgently. "Give him a kiss for me, and tell him everything's going to be okay."

As the others walked away, Debbie made a sign of the cross and closed her eyes. _Please, Lord, let Sunshine be okay_, she silently prayed as she stood there helplessly_….._She knew after what had happened to Michael, she couldn't handle something happening to the sweet, passionate, and courageous young man she loved as much as her other two "sons." Justin and Brian had been so happy this past year; why did this have to happen to them? She shook her head in despair over where Justin could be and what might be happening to him, and she knew Brian had to be worried out of his mind as well.

As if he could sense her pain, Greg walked up to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. As the two of them stood there in silent companionship, he, also found himself making a silent plea that the man who had bravely stood up to Prescott not so long ago would come home, safe and sound. Knowing how evil Prescott could be, however, did little to comfort him as they waited anxiously for what information Brian would be able to provide.

* * *

As Jennifer and Carl entered the interior patient area, the doctor turned to state, "I don't think you'll have to ask which bed he's assigned to," he said. "Just follow the voice."

As he spoke, Carl and Jennifer couldn't help instantly recognizing Brian's voice from down the hall; it was a voice full of deep frustration, but also fear and rage. "Why won't someone fucking _listen _to me?‼ I need you to FIND him‼"

"Sir, you're going to have to calm down," a female voice was telling him forcefully as the group walked closer to the curtained-off cubicle, "or we'll have to restrain you."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" Brian shouted. "Are you people fucking CRAZY? I need Horvath‼"

"Brian!" Jennifer cried out as she pushed the curtain quickly aside and she, the doctor, and Carl came rushing into his cubicle; her son-in-law was sitting sideways on the edge of a hospital cot in a worn, faded, blue, cloth gown, his long legs dangling over the side as he yanked his arm away from a nurse who was holding a syringe in her hand nearby.

"Jennifer!" Brian called out in relief as she came running over to hug him.

"Brian!" she greeted him anxiously; the two of them held on tightly to each other for several seconds before she whispered, "Thank God you're all right!"

Brian securely held the woman who had brought the man he loved into the world, holding on as if it could help him continue to hold Justin closer to his heart as well. Like a little, scared boy seeking comfort in a storm, he buried his face in Jennifer's side. When he at last raised his head to stare into her worried eyes, he whispered, his voice ragged and shaky from both pain, exhaustion and weakness, "I had to fucking leave him, Jennifer….I let him down."

"Shh," Jennifer murmured, reaching up to cradle Brian's head in her hands. She tried desperately to comfort her son-in-law, but his anguished words shot a cold ribbon of dread straight into her heart.

As Brian finally pulled back from her, he realized for the first time that Carl was with her. "Carl!" Brian called out; he immediately struggled to clamber down from his hospital bed as two large-muscled orderlies standing guard nearby rushed over to hold him in place. "Let me go!" he snarled at them. "I have to get OUT of here!" He turned to Carl desperately. "Carl – It's Justin. We have to _find_ him! Prescott has him!" He thrashed furiously in an unsuccessful bid to climb off the hospital bed as the two men continued to hold him down. "Damn it! Let me go! We don't have _time_ for this‼"

Jennifer's heart was pounding rapidly as she heard Brian confirm her worst fear; the man's brother who had relentlessly stalked her son for almost a year apparently had Justin with him. "Brian, we know about Prescott's brother escaping and killing Lane," she told him, holding onto his arm. "But you have to calm down and tell us where he is."

Brian's eyes were bright with unshed tears of frustration. "I don't know," he told them helplessly as his hands clenched the edge of the hospital mattress. "I don't know where they are. Damn it, Carl – you've got to find Prescott!" He blinked suddenly as he realized what Jennifer had just said. "Prescott's _brother_? What are you talking about?"

Jennifer held onto Brian's arm as if it were a lifeline to her son; perhaps in a way, it was. "Greg Matthews is out in the lobby. He found out that Lane Prescott and his brother escaped from prison this morning and that Lane was shot and killed by his brother. They tried to reach both you and Justin after they found out, but they couldn't. We were worried sick about both of you….."

Brian shook his head almost violently. "I don't know what you heard, Jennifer, but Aiden Prescott doesn't have Justin – LANE does! I'm sure of it! I would know that motherfucker anywhere‼" He once more tried to pull away from the other two men, who continued to hold on to him per the emergency room doctor's instruction.

Carl's mouth dropped open. "Are you sure, Brian? The prison coroner said the body they found in a river was wearing Lane Prescott's prison uniform."

Brian huffed impatiently. "Come on, Carl! You know what that psychopath's capable of! He's wanted Justin since the moment he _saw_ him! I'm telling you – it's HIM! I don't know how he did it, but I'm telling you – HE has Justin, not his brother. We have to find them‼" He glared over at Dr. Meadows. "Tell these fucking goons to let GO of me, damn it!"

Jennifer's face was ashen at Brian's revelation; she was stunned to learn that the man she had hoped was finally dead was actually alive after all, and worse yet, he had her son. "Carl," she whispered, "We have to find Justin." She turned to the emergency room doctor. "Doctor, is he okay to leave? We need Brian to help us."

Dr. Meadows let out a confused breath. "I don't understand at all what's going on here," he admitted, turning to face Carl and Jennifer. "Your friend here was brought in with apparently some sort of illegal substance injected into his bloodstream. We're still waiting for the toxicology results to come back to determine just what it was he was injected with. I really don't think it's a good idea for him to leave the hospital yet."

Brian's eyes flashed with cold fury. "Listen to me, you piece of shit! I don't care _what_ you say – I'm LEAVING now‼ Now tell these fucking gorillas to let GO of me NOW‼" He pulled once more against his restraints futilely as he looked over at Carl and Jennifer beseechingly.

Carl made a quick determination; he knew there was no way Brian would stay there, anyway – not when it was quite likely Justin was in grave danger. "We need to question him," he told the doctor. "He may be the only person who can help us locate his missing husband. I'm sure he'll sign whatever liability release forms you need; besides, you can't keep him here legally anyway. Let him go," he said forcefully, leaving no room for negotiation. If there was any chance at all of finding Prescott – and Justin – they needed Brian's help to do it.

The doctor studied the three faces staring back at him; they were all wearing identical looks of great concern as well as determination. He sighed, knowing he was defeated; besides in this matter, he felt he had no choice but to acquiesce to this policeman's order. "Very well," he told them. "I'll have the forms prepared right away." He turned to the two orderlies to advise them, "Let him go," before he nodded and quickly turned to leave, heading toward the nurses' station nearby to have the release papers prepared.

As soon as the two men grudgingly released him, Brian glared at them as he promptly jumped down from the cot, only to find himself swaying slightly on his feet as a wave of dizziness hit him; Carl quickly reached out to grab his upper arm to steady him as Brian leaned back momentarily against the mattress to wait until the feeling subsided.

Brian looked around the confines of the hospital cubicle. "My clothes," he murmured, "Where are they? Help me find them," he urgently asked his friends.

Jennifer looked worriedly over at her son-in-law, telling Carl, "Hold on to him – I'll find them." She walked over to a wood, laminated-covered cupboard to open it and discover Brian's clothing in a plastic, drawstring bag. Pulling them out and walking back over, she said somewhat awkwardly, "I'll be right outside – hurry." She knew every second was of the essence where her son was concerned.

Carl nodded as he took the clothes from her. As she pulled the curtain back and walked outside, Carl reached over to reclose it. While he helped Brian get dressed in his street clothes, for the first time Carl had a chance to question Brian more thoroughly. "Brian, what exactly happened? All Greg and I knew was that Prescott had escaped from prison and we couldn't reach either you or Justin."

As Carl held his pants out in front of him, Brian slowly pulled his leg up to place it into his pants, gritting his teeth to keep from succumbing to a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. He _had_ to stay strong for Justin – he knew his life probably depended on it. "One of my employees scheduled me for a new client luncheon at the Gentlemen's Club downtown earlier this afternoon," he slowly revealed, his breathing shallow and strained as he strived to speak. "I had never seen the man before," he told Carl, anticipating his next question. "I took a couple sips of my Beam and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair all tied up with that madman Prescott." His face darkened with cold hatred as he recalled how smug the man had looked as he relished in his predicament and described what he would do with Justin….

Brian forced himself not to think about that as he returned to the present and gingerly stepped into the other leg of his pants, holding onto the mattress and Carl's arm for support. "The second I heard his voice, I knew why he had me." He looked up at the detective, desperation and guilt written all over his face. "Carl – he took me for bait. He found out somehow that it was our wedding anniversary – our _fucking_ anniversary! – and texted Justin from my OWN phone to come to him." As Brian slowly placed his arm inside his shirt, he laughed ironically. "The fucker even had a limo pick him up!"

He finally managed to pull his remaining arm into the other shirtsleeve and stood up straighter as he told Carl softly, "Justin had no idea what was going on until he got there – wherever we were." As Carl continued to hold onto him, he bit his lip in worry. "Carl – we have to find him," he said, his face contorted in emotional pain. "That man has no hint of humanity left – there's no telling what he'll do now if he could kill his own brother." He noticed an indecipherable look briefly pass Carl's face as he asked urgently, "What? What aren't you telling me?"

Carl sighed. "Son, he didn't just kill his brother. He also killed a prison guard and a laundry employee who was apparently in on the whole prison break scheme."

Brian inhaled a shaky breath. "My God." _Justin…_. He took his shoes from Carl, not even bothering to put them on. "We don't have any time. We have to find Justin." He slowly began to hobble toward the curtain as Jennifer, overhearing their conversation, pulled the curtain back for him. Her eyes were a perfect reflection of the pain and worry coursing through Brian's own veins as the two of them silently embraced again, united in their love for the same man and their resolve to find him.

A few minutes later, after Brian had signed the obligatory discharge forms, the three of them slowly made their way back up toward the double exit doors. As soon as they emerged back out into the harsh spotlight of the waiting room, Debbie shot up from her hard, plastic chair and rushed over to greet them, Greg following closely behind her.

"Brian!" Debbie cried, noticing with shock how drawn and exhausted he looked; she quickly pulled him into a fierce embrace as Brian slowly wrapped his arms around her back and held on to her like a lifeline. She could hear him exhale a loud sigh before she finally pulled back slightly from him to stare up into his pain-filled eyes. "We're going to find him, Honey," she told him. "He's going to be okay, you hear me?" she said, her own voice choked with emotion. At that moment, despite her great worry over Justin, she refused to believe anything else – he simply HAD to be all right. There was no other alternative.

Brian took a deep breath before letting it out and finally nodded at her, his lips pursed together to prevent a display of unaccustomed emotion from showing on his face. He finally let Debbie go to turn to Carl and Greg.

"What's next?" he asked, leaning on Carl for support; his stomach was still churning with nausea and he still felt unsteady on his feet, but his physical pain was nothing compared to what he was feeling inside as he repeated urgently, "We have to find him…There must be some way you can locate where he is, hypnosis, something..."

Carl motioned toward the door; their little spectacle of uniformed as well as non-uniformed people was beginning to create quite a buzz. He felt it was best to move their strategy meeting, however urgent it may be, to a more private locale. "Come on – let's get out here. We've got a lot to discuss."

_

* * *

_

Outside Pittsburgh

Justin stayed in the large, walk-in shower until the hot water slowly turned lukewarm and then downright frigid; with extreme dread, he finally turned the water off completely and toweled himself off with a bath sheet he found hanging from a nearby, heated towel rack. The man had spared no expense, apparently, in remodeling the older house he was currently being held a captive in. It was just a shame he had totally wasted his dirty money on him. No amount of luxury or accommodation would ever make him feel even one iota of affection or respect anymore for the man waiting for him downstairs in the drawing room.

He desperately tried to think of something, anything, to do to avoid being in Prescott's company once more, but his memory of what Lane had threatened he would do to Brian prevented him for trying to follow through on any of them. He shuddered at the thought of having to be near the man's presence again. Resigned, however, for now that there was no other way to ensure Brian's safety, he finished toweling himself off and, hanging the towel back up, he turned toward the adjoining dressing area to find out what Lane had "thoughtfully" hung out for to wear.

He cringed as he noticed the black, leather pants and low-cut, v-top, sleeveless red shirt Lane had selected for him, hanging on a couple of hangers over the closet door. He had also laid a pair of low-rise black briefs and a pair of matching silk socks on the bed nearby to complete the ensemble. He noticed with curiosity that Lane hadn't placed any shoes with the rest of the clothing – apparently the man didn't want to provide him with an easy chance to escape, not that that seemed too likely at the moment. Lane had already made a point of revealing that all the doors and windows were wired with a very sophisticated, state-of-the-art security system whose alarm system would immediately sound if he so much as rattled a window. The man had apparently thought of everything to keep him a prisoner here…

He sighed as he resigned himself to playing along with Prescott for now, as much as he hated the idea; he would have to do whatever it took, though, to keep the man he loved safe. Reaching over to retrieve the clothing, he walked over and sat down on the bed to begin getting dressed.

A few minutes later, he stood in front of a full-length mirror attached to the walk-in-closet and examined his appearance. He had to grudgingly admit – Prescott had estimated his size flawlessly; the pants molded to his body as if they were painted on, and the long-sleeve shirt curved over his chest in just the right places and complimented his skin tone perfectly. He closed his eyes in dread, knowing he couldn't put his reunion with his captor off any longer. If he didn't go downstairs, he had no doubt Prescott would be coming up shortly to track him down.

He took a deep breath before he slowly turned and began to walk toward the bedroom's door. He steeled himself as he stood in the entry momentarily, closing his eyes to think of a brunet man with hazel eyes that always looked back at him so transparently now with love and tender emotion. He knew somehow that Brian would be with him and would give him the strength to endure whatever would happen as he finally crossed the door's threshold and began to hesitantly walk down the hallway toward the spiral staircase.

He paused at the top of the landing, placing his hand on the curved, polished wood of the railing, willing himself to continue. He could hear what sounded like classical music softly wafting from the open doorway of the drawing room and the occasional crackling of flames from the wood fireplace. Glancing down at the gleaming, platinum band on his finger that signified where his true heart lay, he finally began to slowly descend the stairs, his footsteps thankfully muffled effectively by the carpet runner placed in the middle of the steps.

As he finally reached the bottom floor, he had a short opportunity to take a closer look at his surroundings. From the long length of the hallway set parallel to the staircase, the house certainly contained a labyrinth of numerous rooms; from Justin's vantage point, however, he couldn't see into any of the other rooms except for the dining room he and Prescott had shared a meal in earlier. The rest of the rooms were either closed off presently or too far away to peer into. He made a mental note to check out his surroundings further as soon as he was given the opportunity.

His heart lurched sharply as he took one more step down the hall and heard a rather loud creak underneath; his hope that his exploration would go unnoticed was dashed as he heard Lane's voice.

"Is that you, Angel? I've been waiting for you. Come in here," the man said quietly in an almost sultry tone that made Justin shiver in dread and repulsion. Once again, he wondered how he could have ever been deceived by this man as he took a breath and slowly turned around to walk over toward the drawing room to face him.

As he stood inside the doorway, he observed a spacious, softly-lit room; the hearty fire currently blazing did nothing to warm the inside of his heart as he found Lane sitting on the Queen Ann style, light-blue loveseat, swirling a large snifter of brandy in his hand before he took a quick gulp and placed it down on the glass-topped, oval table in front of him. He was wearing a silky, ivory-colored, long-sleeved shirt, partially unbuttoned at the top, and a pair of expensive, beige-colored linen slacks. Justin heard the man's sharp intake of breath as he noticed him standing in the doorway; his pulse quickened in concern at the smile of apprecaition he received from Lane as he fastened his gaze on him slowly.

Lane stood up as Justin slowly entered the room; Justin felt like his legs were made of lead as he forced himself to move farther into what he felt like was a dangerous spider's web. Lane licked his lips hungrily and his eyes roamed possessively over the slender, tightly-clad body before he raised his eyes to meet Justin's and murmured softly, "You are more beautiful every time I see you, Angel." He held his hand out to Justin before he commanded him once more, "Come here."'

Justin stood there, frozen in part fear, part disgust. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage this irrational man. "Lane….." he began tentatively, staying where he was as he battled for more time. "I'm so tired. Couldn't we have this discussion tomorrow?"

Justin's heart twisted as he saw the other man's eyes darken in anger. "No, Angel," he stated evenly; the quiet of other man's voice left no doubt the man wasn't going to be flexible. "I've waited over a year for this moment. I can't wait any longer." Lane slowly walked toward Justin, fierce determination obvious on his face. His eyes fixed on Justin's as they practically bored into the blond's; Lane's body thrummed in thrilling anticipation that at last he would have the prize he had been craving for so long. "I can't wait to hold you in my arms," he whispered to Justin as his hands slowly reached out to embrace the younger man.

Justin's body shivered in revulsion as Lane approached him; his eyes shifted from side to side in a desperate attempt to find a way to avoid what was about to happen. Despite his fervent wishes, though, he knew there was no way out. He had no way of knowing what fate had befallen Brian, or how much control this man had over him.

Resigned to the unpleasant encounter, he closed eyes just before Lane was to reach out and touch him when he unexpectedly heard the man's voice saying darkly, "Take it off."

Startled, Justin opened his eyes in surprise. "What?" He noticed the other man's eyes narrowing in quiet fury as he continued to gaze downward at something.

Lane nodded his head toward Justin's left hand. "I said take that abhorrent piece of shit off NOW."

Justin licked his lips nervously, wondering just what Lane was referring to. Why was he looking at his hand? In a flash, he realized what he wanted, and despite his fear of this man, it quickly dissolved into angry resolution and determination. "No," he said firmly. "I won't take if off." His wedding band had been placed there by Brian on the day they were married in Vermont a year ago, and he had never once taken it off his finger for anything or anyone – he wasn't about to break that commitment now, especially for THIS man.

Lane walked a couple more steps until he now was only a foot away from Justin. Justin gasped as he roughly reached out and grabbed his left arm to bring it up to his face. "I won't ask again, Justin," he said in a quiet threat. "Your life with this man is over – you belong with ME now. Now take…..it…..off."

Justin's flesh was quickly turning a darker color from the violent grip the other man had on his wrist. He winced in pain as he gasped out, "You're hurting me, Lane…..please let go of me." He tried to back away and pull himself free of the steely grasp of the other man's hand but it was no use – months of working out with the prison's weights had made Lane even more lean and muscular, and he was no match for the more slender blond.

"I'm _never_ going to let you go again, don't you understand?" Lane commanded as he slowly pulled Justin back toward him. "And I _will_ make good on my promise to kill your precious husband if you don't do what I say. Now I won't say it again – take….it…..OFF." He stared darkly into Justin's eyes without blinking, making sure Justin knew he was fully prepared to follow through on his threat. Lane, of course, knew from a text he had received earlier that Kinney had been dumped, drugged once more but still alive, on some godforsaken, deserted road on the outskirts of town, but Justin had no way of knowing that. Lane knew to his satisfaction that he would be getting exactly what he had waited so long for tonight as he waited for his Angel to follow his command.

Justin's eyes filled with tears, because he knew he was about to break a promise he had made to him and to Brian one year ago today. He knew he couldn't refuse this madman, even though his heart was breaking into pieces at the thought of what he was about to do.

As Lane finally let his hand go, Justin inhaled a large intake of ragged breath before he raised his hand to kiss the shiny metal band that had occupied a place on his hand and in his heart for so long. He sniffled in torment as he reached down and slowly pulled at the snugly-fitted ring as it finally came off in his hand.

He began to place it protectively in his pocket when he heard Prescott commanding him in a steely voice, "No. Give it to me." He held his hand out to Justin with his palm up expectantly.

Justin swallowed the lump that rose in his throat as his eyes filled with tears. As he painfully reached out to give the ring to this monster staring back at him, he felt like a piece of his heart had just been torn away from him. He watched in horror as Lane took the ring and promptly threw it across the room as he smiled back at him in pleasure. Justin could hear a metallic clang sound several times as the ring bounced off a couple of walls and finally came to rest somewhere on the other side of the room near several wooden, floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Justin's eyes stared defiantly back at the other man; he knew what was about to happen but he _also_ knew this man could never obtain from him what would never be his to take – his heart and his love for Brian.

Lane openly admired the now jewelry-bare man standing so close to him; the black leather pants and red shirt accentuated Justin's trim, compact body, surprisingly large cock and pale skin; his heart began to beat furiously as he realized at last they were going to be together forever. He smiled as he held out his hand to Justin again and purred huskily, "Come with me, Angel – it's time for bed."

Justin closed his eyes, desperately hoping he was merely experiencing some horrible, awful nightmare and he would soon wake up beside his husband, Brian's warm arms firmly cradling him protectively as they woke up together in their loft. Those thoughts of security and love radiated inside him as he opened his eyes to find himself still in hell before he finally accepted the proffered hand and allowed himself to be led from the room and towards the staircase leading to the master bedroom.


	7. Guilt and Epiphany

_**A/N: Warning for this chapter - while not overly explicit, it does contain non-consensual sexual contact - if this offends you, please do not read...!**_

_**

* * *

**_Justin's skin crawled as he forced himself to take the proffered hand; this was not the touch of a lover's tender caress. It wasn't a soft loving whisper like Brian's familiar, warm hand in his. It wasn't a gentle, welcomed promise of things to come. It was more like a lamb being led toward the slaughterhouse, except in this case Justin knew with deep dread what was going to happen – what HAD to happen and what he had to do to keep Brian from harm. Prescott had made no secret of what he would do if he refused to cooperate. He really didn't care what happened to him, if it meant Brian would be safe. For Brian meant the world to him – he WAS his world. If something happened to Brian, he might as well be dead, too, because his world would stop evolving as he knew it if Brian was no longer in it.

He felt his palm being caressed almost possessively as he looked up at Lane gazing at him, his lips twisted into an almost smug smile of triumph. "This is all that kept me alive this past year," he murmured as he continued to pull Justin toward the staircase. "The thought of being with you again, being able to fulfill the dream I had since the first moment we met."

Justin didn't know how to respond to the man's irrational ranting as he slowly was pulled up the steps, one hand on the banister to support himself as Lane kept his other hand locked in his. How he had hoped for Prescott to be following behind him, rather than leading, because in one quick instant he wouldn't have given a second thought to turning around and pushing the man down the rather steep steps to tumble down the landing into a bloody heap. Anything to get away from this living, waking nightmare and back into Brian's protective arms. But the man was way too strong for him – Prescott kept a firm hold on the banister, also, as he forcefully pulled Justin along with him.

As if sensing what Justin was thinking, Prescott stopped for a second as they finally reached the upstairs landing to warn him, "Remember what I told you, Angel," he said with surprising sanity. "Kinney's life depends upon your cooperation. If I don't check in with my men in the next hour, they will know something's wrong and they will respond accordingly. And just in case you're thinking of doing something impulsive, I have every window and door wired – you can't get out of here without tripping the alarm. I have security guards posted outside – if I don't respond within 30 seconds of the alarm going off, they're instructed to begin an immediate search of the house and grounds. You won't get more than 50 feet from the door, Angel."

He reached over now to place his hand against Justin's cheek; Justin flinched at the other man's touch, trying to turn his head to the side to shrug it off, but Lane took both hands and held his head in a vice grip as he added, "Don't you see, Angel? We were always meant to be together." He licked his lips eagerly, his eyes darkening with unbridled lust at the site of Justin's plush, soft lips pursed together in a futile attempt to resist him. The sudden idea of having Justin struggle against him sent a thrill coursing through his body, at the thought of the other man's writhing beneath him as he finally took total possession of him.

He rubbed his thumbs over the soft cheeks slowly, relishing in the warm, supple touch, looking at the blue eyes that seemed to be ablaze with what he just knew was undoubtedly passion – passion for HIM and the journey they were about to undertake together. "This way, Angel," he whispered, barely able to control his anticipation; he removed one of his hands to wrap it firmly around Justin's wrist while the other hand wound itself around the blond's slim waist to anchor him securely to his own body. As he felt Justin tremble slightly, he felt a rush of desire spreading through him at the initial contact. He had hoped to take things slowly their first time tonight, drinking in every pore of his heavenly body – after all, the first time was always so special for both parties – but he was quickly realizing that would be quite difficult in light of his enormous desire for this other man. He decided that the alternative method of taking him forcefully also held a certain feral appeal; at that moment, his only consuming thought was to possess this man totally, body and soul.

Justin shuddered in revulsion as Lane wrapped his arm around his waist, unable to keep the disgust from registering physically in response to his touch. The only way he could keep from becoming ill was forcing himself to imagine it was Brian's arm around him, not this crazed, deluded psychopath as Lane continued to walk toward the end of the hallway where the master bedroom was located.

As they came to the open doorway, Lane released his hold long enough from Justin to push him unexpectedly into the room and turn quickly to close the door and lock it electronically with one push on the keypad; Justin had noticed with dread earlier that unlike the other, old-fashioned, glass doorknobs of the other rooms, this one had an electronic keypad that allowed the user to enter a code instead. He realized now that once the door was locked from the inside, he could only exit it without the alarm sounding by knowing the code. He was surprised that in Lane's obviously-unbalanced state, he had had enough perception and rationality to think about all this planning ahead of time, especially in light of him being in prison until recently.

Hoping, perhaps then, to stall against the inevitable and for more time, Justin asked the other man, "How did you manage to buy this house while you were confined?"

Lane slowly walked toward him with a pleased smile on his face. "You know what an astute businessman I always was, Angel. I never had all my eggs in one basket; the Feds never _did_ find all my money. I've always had a lot of off-shore accounts that held more money than they could ever have possibly imagined. Money buys anything, Angel," he told the other man as he continued to approach him. Justin slowly backed up, trying desperately to stay away as long as possible from the other man's touch. "Except maybe you," he said softly. "Maybe that's why I was always so entranced by you. I could never get you out of my head – or my heart," he whispered. "You didn't care about the money – you cared about ME."

Justin felt bile rise in his throat and his heart pounded in fear as he listened to the man's insane musings; he felt his body back into the wall behind him as Lane continued to walk toward him, and he knew there was finally nowhere else to go, and no one to turn to. He was trapped in a room – and a hell – he had never wanted to be in, torn between wanting desperately to escape to safety or needing to keep the man he _loved_ safe. He knew the choice he had to make – there could BE no other choice.

Lane placed both of his hands against the wall by Justin's shoulders, effectively blocking him in with his arms and his larger body. Justin could feel the other man's warm breath blowing on his face as the Prescott whispered huskily, "Since I got my first taste of those lips, I've been craving more and more. It's like the taste of the sweetest of wines – so intoxicating and so exhilirating; it makes me drunk just at the thought of tasting it again, over and over."

As Lane leaned in to take an initial sip, Justin closed his eyes and fought to control the urge to tear the man's eyes out. As Prescott's lips made initial contact, he purposely kept his lips shut tight against the onslaught, even as he felt Lane's tongue snake out to try and coax his mouth to open. The initial light request for entry soon turned into a more firm entreaty as he felt the man's tongue pressing against his lips unsuccessfully.

As he continued to resist further penetration, he felt Lane's hands reach down to hold him firmly by the shoulders as he eventually pulled back to look angrily into his eyes, which had opened at the unexpected grip. "You're holding back, Angel," the man said with quiet fury. "Don't forget what I told you – you are mine now, not his. I want ALL of you – give it to me or I will be take it out on HIM."

Justin shuddered at the unfamiliar man staring daggers back at him; this man held no semblance whatsoever to the gentle, understanding man he had first met so long ago at the post-auction dinner. The man glaring at him now with undisguised desire and frustrated anger was totally unknown to him and it frightened him terribly. He had no doubt this man meant everything he was saying. As Lane leaned in again for another attempt, Justin reached deep inside himself to retreat to another world – and another man – he DID know and loved deeply as he felt Prescott's lips on his again and his tongue demanding entrance.

He closed his eyes tightly once more as he reluctantly opened his mouth and felt the other man's tongue eagerly thrusting inside. He stood immobile, refusing to make any other move that could possibly be construed as acceptance or encouragement, as Lane continued a thorough exploration of his mouth; his tongue and lips washing over him like a sour, distasteful flood. He felt the other man's arms wrap around his waist and pull him flush against his own body, the other man's cock grinding against his leather-bound one. He condemned himself as he not only felt the other man's quickly hardening arousal against his groin, but to his utter contempt, his own as well as he felt his body responding instinctively to Prescott's rocking motion.

He heard the other moan in pleasure as he continued to plunder his mouth for several more seconds before a need for air forced him to reluctantly break away from the swollen, bruised lips; Lane's unabated hunger for this long-awaited treasure had made all sense of patience and gentleness quickly disappear as he stared back intently at the delicious sight of this tousled, flushed blond vision he had finally had his first taste of in so long, like a man in a desert deprived endlessly of life-quenching water.

"God, you are so fucking beautiful, Angel," he murmured almost reverently, total oblivious to the fact that Justin hadn't responded in kind but had merely cooperated enough to keep him from doing any harm to Brian. Justin's eyes popped open when he was pushed up against the wall as Lane began to slowly unbutton his shirt to expose the pale, soft, creamy torso. Prescott's eyes widened at the sight of his Angel's nipples and slim chest, noticing with some consternation that the Angel charm he had placed on the other man's nipple ring was nowhere visible. "Where is the charm I bought for you, Angel?" he gently chided the other man, as he reached one finger out to slowly flick itself over the left bud. "You looked so heavenly with it on," he murmured as his eyes slowly raked appreciatively over the pale expanse of skin. "I'll have to replace it," he decided, never taking his eyes off his prize. He slowly ran both of his hands up either side of Justin's chest slowly, relishing in the warm touch of the unblemished skin. His hands travelled over to Justin's shoulders to push the shirt aside and pull it down and off his chest completely.

As Justin stood there, his hands at his side in non-compliance, he closed his eyes again, unable to look at the man openly ogling him now. _Please…..let this all be a bad dream_, he pleaded, but he knew it wasn't. He knew it was all too real, and he also knew if he didn't cooperate, Brian's life was in danger. He opened his eyes suddenly as he felt Lane's hands on his wrists, guiding him from the wall and toward the bed.

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat as he heard the man say huskily, "Take them off, Angel…..I want to watch you." Justin bit his lip in fear as, with trembling hands, he slowly undid the buttons of his leather pants and slid them down his legs, keeping his briefs on. He looked away from the other man long enough to step out of the black garment, taking a breath to steady himself as he slowly raised his eyes to gaze back at Prescott, who was almost drooling at the sight of his nearly-unclad body. He turned his gaze upward toward the ceiling to keep from staring back at the eyes that were full of unbridled craving for him as he heard Prescott's intake of sharp breath and his rapid, staccato pants of desire.

"God, I just want to devour you, Angel," he gasped out. "So beautiful…..so perfect," he whispered, as he began to eagerly unbutton his _own _shirt and quickly remove it.

Justin turned his head away to look anywhere else in the room as he heard the man's expression of approval, not bearing to look at the other man as he continued to quickly undress. _Brian_, he thought to himself….._I need you. _He could have sworn somewhere in his head and in his heart, he could hear the man he loved saying, _I'm with you, Sunshine….I'll_ _ALWAYS be with you…..I love you…_as Lane, now totally nude, reached over to Justin to push him down onto the mattress with his hands.

Justin inhaled a shuddering breath as he felt the smooth, cool satin sheets underneath his skin as Lane joined him to press him down onto the bed and hover over him, his body supported by his elbows on either side of the blond. Justin could feel the man's cock pressing against his belly as the man lay between his legs and murmured, "I want you so much, Angel….I've _always_ wanted you. Now at last you're _mine_," he said triumphantly as he swooped in to begin raining kisses on his neck, shoulders, and down his chest, pausing to flick, lick and nip each pebbly nub languidly as he sighed in pleasure at the feel and taste of this captivating, hauntingly beautiful man. "So beautiful," he repeated in awe, as he lowered himself flush against Justin's body so he could begin an exploration with his hands, which began to slowly caress Justin's thighs in an up and down pattern, and then in light circles near the crease of his thighs and belly.

Despite his deep desire and hunger for the blond, Lane's touch was surprisingly gentle, almost as if he couldn't believe this moment had finally arrived after all this time. Oh, he had held Justin in his arms before – had even stolen a couple of willing kisses from him at the time – but he had _never _been allowed to touch Justin this way, to worship him, not like he was doing now. He had seen Justin bare from the chest up once before – having taking the liberty of enjoying the wonderful sight of him on his yacht when he had been forced to drug him into unconsciousness to bestow his namesake Angel charm on him – but he had never had the privilege of seeing him like this – bare except for the smallest of briefs snugly molded against his cock, and stretched out beneath him like a trembling, pliant slave to his every desire. As his lust-filled, darkened eyes feasted on the delicious sight beneath him, he knew it was time to taste every part of this unbelievably perfect man. "At last, Angel," he whispered, as he twisted his body off Justin to lean on one elbow so he could free his other hand up to remove Justin's briefs. His hand trembled as he reached over to grasp the black waistband and begin to slowly, with delicious anticipation, pull the briefs down the slim waist and over a cock that was full, thick, and surprisingly large for such a slender body. He noted with approval that the cock was already half-erect, just waiting for his tender ministrations to bring it to its full glory.

His breath caught in his throat and his mouth watered in anticipation as Justin was finally exposed completely. "Oh….." he managed to exclaim softly, as he continued to slowly pull the briefs down Justin's slender legs. As he finally managed to discard them completely and throw them down on the floor, he was at last treated to the sight of a fully-naked Justin beside him, and he thought he had never seen anything so breathtaking in his life. His most vivid dreams that he had had every night during his incarceration had never compared to the sight in front of him, and he found himself almost speechless at the thought that soon, very soon, this sight would be his for the taking, over and over and over again.

He slowly reached his hand out to caress Justin's chest once more; he noticed Justin's eyes were closed tightly but he wasn't concerned with his reaction. His own body's screaming for possession of this man was overriding any rational thought as he climbed on top on the blond and began once more to grind his own cock against Justin's in an attempt to make him even more aroused. Just the touch of them locked together, however, was apt to make him come way too soon, however, as he moaned at the exquisite touch of skin on skin and pulled back slightly to regain control of his ragged breathing. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to pound into Justin violently to slake his thirst, but he forced himself to hold back – for now. He wanted this to last as long as possible, but he also knew his control was quickly disappearing the longer he touched Justin's body. He longed to grasp Justin's magnificent cock, to milk it dry as he heard the other man scream in ecstasy, but he selfishly avoided that pleasure for now, wanting to satisfy his most ardent fantasy first.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to look into the eyes of his tormentor. Only if he kept his eyes closed could he imagine, instead, that it was Brian touching him, Brian kissing him, and Brian whispering words of tender endearment in his ears. How it wished it were true as his mind began to wander outside of his body and he strove to tell himself he wasn't really here; his heart would NEVER be here with this man, no matter what he did or what he forced him to do...

As he felt Lane take hold of his legs and begin to raise them toward his shoulders, however, his eyes snapped open and the knowledge of what was about to happen brought him back to shattering reality. "Lane," he breathed out in a choked plea, hoping that one tiny semblance of humanity still rested in the other man's soul somewhere deep inside. "Please," he implored… "condom," he entreated, his eyes locked on the other man's in a desperate quest for sanity.

Lane's darkened eye narrowed as if he had been insulted at Justin's request. "You want me to wear a fucking condom, Angel? Why would I want to do that? You're mine now and I'm yours. They'll never be any other man for either one of us – why would I need to wear one of those?"

Justin had to think rapidly or they would be past the point of no return. He and Brian had been fucking raw ever since they had been married; he felt guilty enough over what was about to happen, even though he knew he was only doing it to protect Brian. But the thought of Lane fucking him the same way that only Brian had done before filled him with unbearable pain. He would NOT do this with this man – he had vowed to save that pleasure – and special act – for only when he was with Brian, the man he was married to and the man he would love forever. But at the same time he was terrified about what Lane would do if he refused to go through with this; how could he somehow persuade him not to fuck him without a condom and not anger him so much that he would hurt Brian? He and Brian had worked so hard to get where they were, and he wasn't about to go back now, though – there had to be some way to get through to this dangerous, obsessed man.

"Lane," he sputtered out, as the man continued to pull his legs over his shoulders in preparation for their joining. "I know they'll never be anyone else," he soothed the other man, forcing himself to reach up and place a hand on the other man's cheek, even though inside his heart was breaking at the touch of his hand on this other man, and the sound of his voice speaking what sounded like a betrayal of his love for Brian.

"I know we'll always be together," he whispered as sincerely as he could. "But the prison – I know you had to take care of your needs in prison. I know how much you care about me – so you wouldn't want me to be harmed, would you?" He bit his lip anxiously as he saw the other man seeming to hesitate as he held his breath in a pregnant wait for his response. _Please… _

Finally, to his great relief, Lane smiled slightly, apparently pleased at Justin's declaration of his faithfulness and the soft touch of his hand on his cheek. Finally, his Angel was beginning to understand that they were always been meant to be together, and he finally realized how right this was. He nodded, saying, "Of course, Angel….I completely agree. Until we can be tested, I would never do anything to harm the man I love." He reached over to a nearby nightstand and pulled the small drawer open to reveal a condom package and a small tube of lube. "Please forgive me, Angel," he said almost contritely now. "I let my great desire for you almost overshadow my judgement." He sucked in a breath as he looked down at the flushed body and Justin's darkening cock. "I have to take you first, Angel," he murmured as he eagerly tore the condom package with his teeth and reached in excitedly to pull it out of its package. "But not to worry, my love. As soon as I take care of my own needs, I will be happy to take care of YOURS," he promised as his eyes raked over the man's hardened member, seemingly begging for attention.

He quickly sheathed his throbbing cock in the latex, his eyes never leaving his Angel's as he once more took Justin's legs in his arms and reached up to place them over his shoulders. As Justin squeezed his eyes shut, trying fervently to escape to another place and another man's touch, he heard Lane's voice, hard as steel, commanding him, "Look at me, Angel…Look at me. I want to see those beautiful eyes."

Justin eyes filled with tears as he forced himself to open them and gaze up into the almost black orbs of undisguised ardor and lust staring back at him. He gasped as he felt Lane's fingers rubbing the familiar, cold gel around his hole and probing for entry. He saw Lane's mouth smile in delight as he proclaimed, "So tight...incredibly tight, just like I imagined, Angel...I'm so glad you waited for me. I can't wait any longer..."

Justin would have laughed at the absurdity of Lane's statement if he hadn't know how serious the other man was in his deluded state of mind, and if he hadn't been frightened out of his mind for Brian's safety.

As he felt the other man's tip of his cock brushing against his hole, he knew the only way to keep his OWN sanity was to dream it was Brian, but only with his eyes open now. It would be harder, having to peer back at the man whose eyes he despised and hated, but he knew it didn't matter. No matter where he was, or what he was forced to do, this man would never own his heart. He cursed his own body as it reacted in rebellion against his wishes, his cock continuing to throb with its own unfulfilled need, but as Lane pushed into him, his mind blissfully and immediately flew into the arms of a hazel-eyed, brunet man that he knew was safe at least for now because of what he had was being forced to do. His last thoughts just before Lane climaxed with a loud cry and collapsed on top of him was _Brian…I love you._

_

* * *

_

Debbie and Carl's House – Same Time

"This is bullshit!" Brian paced back and forth in front of the living room furniture, like a beast in an antiquated zoo with too little room. Even though he had just recently been discharged from the hospital and was still shaky on his feet, he couldn't stand still – not while thoughts of what Justin was going through at the moment raced through his mind and constant pangs of guilt lapped at his conscience for at least indirectly providing the means for Prescott to find him.

"Brian, will you PLEASE sit down, Honey?" From her vantage point in a recliner, Debbie placed one hand on Brian's lower arm as he passed in front of her for at least the 20th time in a vain attempt to calm him down, but she knew it would have a limited affect on him; ever since all of them had returned to the house, he had been unable to sit still, frantic with worry over feeling like nothing was being done to help the man he loved and could never envision living without.

Brian angrily shook his head. "I _can't_ sit down!" He turned to face the other three, his hands held out in helpless supplication. "Don't you understand what's going _on _here? Justin is out there with that fucking psycho, who's doing God knows what to him! I'm not just going to _sit here_ on my ass while he's with that….that, I don't even have the right WORDS to adequately describe that man! He's not a man at all – he's not even fucking _human_ anymore!" Brian's eyes, wide with anger and frustration, flashed at Carl, who was sitting in an overstuffed chair by the couch. "What are we DOING here, Carl? We should be out there trying to FIND Justin, not sitting here on our asses!"

"Son, I understand completely," Carl said soothingly, keeping his voice level. He knew what Brian – as well as Jennifer and Debbie – were going through. He was fond of Justin, also – the young man had continually impressed him with his courage and perseverance in the face of so many roadblocks along the way – but he _also_ knew that typically these types of cases were best solved through good, old-fashioned background investigation and re-examination of the facts.

"I have dozens of police officers searching for them as we speak," he told Brian. "Believe me – you can be the most help to Justin right now by sitting down for a few minutes and helping me recreate what happened. Please…..I know how worried you are about him – we ALL are – but I'm asking you to sit down for just a few minutes and tell me again what you remember about the house where you were held."

"Carl's right, Brian," Greg told him reasonably. "The most help you can give Justin right now is to remember everything that happened to you, no matter how trivial it might seem."

Before Brian could protest that they were wasting precious time, Jennifer, who was seated on the couch nearby, reached up and placed her hand on Brian's wrist. Brian's protest died on his lips as he saw the tear-ridden face of his mother-in-law, the worry for her son written all over her face. "Brian," she whispered. "Please…you look exhausted. Please sit down."

Jennifer was frightened not only for her son but also for Brian; his face was a cross between fury and pain, both mental and physical, and she feared that any moment he would collapse, dead on his feet. He had been discharged with the doctor's reluctant authorization, and the past several hours had taken its toll on him. The last thing she wanted – and could handle at the moment – was her son-in-law needing to be re-hospitalized because of Justin's disappearance. She patted the seat next to her. "Please sit down, Brian," she repeated urgently.

Brian sighed as he looked at her face, so reflective of his own feelings at the moment. He finally nodded slightly and with a sigh of resignation slowly lowered himself to the couch as Jennifer reached over to clasp his hand in hers for support. "Tell them again what happened," she urged him, even though the thoughts of what that man might be doing to her son caused her heart to constrict with pain. Hadn't her son been through enough? He had always been so courageous, so kind, so loving. How could someone like him be put through this again? She bit her lip to try and keep any more tears from falling, but it was no use. As yet another tear leaked from her eye, Brian's heart wrenched and he reached over to gently brush it off her cheek, her blue eyes peering back at him in a replication of _another_ pair of blue eyes that he was currently missing and yearning so much to see.

Brian gave her hand a squeeze in mutual commiseration before he told Greg and Carl quietly, "Okay….what do you want to know?"

"Just start at the beginning, Brian," Carl told him. "You said you had lunch with a potential new client downtown."

Brian let out a breath of frustration; hadn't they been through this over and over? "Yes," he said rather impatiently. "I was scheduled to meet with a Mr. Poe at 3:00 at the Gentlemen's Club."

"And who set this appointment up?"

"One of my employees – Tom Matheson." He huffed out a breath of exasperation. "I've already answered all this before, Carl – we should be out there looking for Justin!"

"Just a few more questions, Brian, bear with us," Greg insisted. "How long has he been an employee?"

Brian sighed in barely-contained control, hardly able to stay still. Jennifer tightened her grip on Brian's hand slightly to let him know she was supporting him as he divulged, "About six months now – he's a sales executive for me."

The prosecutor queried, "Is it unusual for him to set you up with new clients like that?"

Brian shook his head; he was barely able to contain his nervous energy as he recounted once more what had happened. "No – as a sales executive, part of his job is to set me up with possible new clients. It's normal for him – or anyone _else _who places cold calls – to schedule me to meet with prospects."

Greg nodded, glancing over at Carl, who silently encouraged him to continue. "Okay….so you went ahead and met with this man over lunch?"

Brian answered curtly as he ran a hand through his hair, "Yes, you already _know_ that, Greg! I've told this story several times now!"

"Brian, just answer the question, okay?" Carl pressed him. "Trust me – sometimes things come out that are helpful to this case, and frankly, we're kind of at a roadblock here," he admitted.

Brian sighed as Carl voiced his _own _fear - the fear that they may _never_ figure out where Justin was. "Okay, okay…Yes, I had dinner with the guy. At least I _started to_. The man had already ordered us something to drink and after a couple of sips, I started getting lightheaded and a little dizzy. Then the nausea started, and the last thing I remember before I apparently blacked out was trying to grasp onto something to keep from falling."

"And that's the last thing you remember until you wound up in the house?"

Brian closed his eyes, trying furiously to concentrate on where he had been confined. Where Justin was no doubt _still_ in the possession of that monster.

"Brian….." he heard Jennifer softly call him. He opened his eyes and glanced over at her to nod before answering. "Yeah…..the next thing I remembered after the restaurant was coming to, tied up in a chair and hearing that fucker's voice." He took a ragged breath before he admitted softly, "I was hoping that it was all just some horrible nightmare instead and I would be waking up from it." _Waking up with Justin in my arms again…_

He pressed his lips tightly together to avoid the tears that were threatening to flow – Justin didn't need that right now, and he couldn't afford to dwell on his own pain. He took a steadying breath before continuing. "My head hurt like a motherfucker, like someone had hit me with a sledge hammer. My hands and feet were tied together and I was in some monstrous wooden chair that wouldn't have budged an inch even I could have moved it, which I couldn't; it was way too heavy."

Jennifer squeezed Brian's hand again as he looked over at her – he wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort her or if SHE was trying to comfort him; he suspected it was probably both at the moment.

Debbie and Carl both sat silently, listening intently as Brian continued his narrative. "I found out from Prescott that he had taken my phone and sent Justin a text to come there." He shook his head in hatred and disgust. "He sent him a limo – how _classy_," he said, the scorn dripping from his voice. His normal baritone voice was hard as steel as he vowed, "Greg…..if he touches one fucking hair on Justin's head, there won't be a place left on this Earth he can go – to me, he's already a fucking dead man." Brian's face hardened as he left no doubt just what he was intending to do once he found the man responsible for his husband's peril. He wished now that he had taken care of the man the first time he had relentlessly pursued Justin; now because of his oversight and his failure to protect Justin adequately, Prescott had his husband in his clutches. He closed his eyes in agony, as images of unspeakable atrocities entered his mind…..

"Brian…please – forget about that for right now," he heard Carl say to him, as he forced himself to return to the awful present – and the terrible reality of what had happened. "Tell me more about the room you were in – tell me everything you remember about it. We have to figure out where he took Justin."

Brian nodded slowly; he knew he must concentrate for Justin's sake. _I've got to find you, Sunshine…_

"It….it looked like some old kind of gothic house. You know, dark wood, high ceilings, old stone fireplace. Dark, heavy drapes from the floor to the ceiling." He sighed; he felt so weary all of a sudden, so exhausted. His eyes fluttered closed again for a couple of seconds as his body still felt the residual effects from the drugs and the constant, dull pain and worry over Justin. _Justin…_ He forced his eyes to reopen once more and his mind to focus.

His voice faltered a little in recollection as his previous surroundings coalesced and swirled in his mind. "It…..seemed to be some sort of bedroom, or maybe a, what do they call it? A sitting room sort of thing – there was a dark blue, velour-type Victorian-style curved couch – I can remember a moldy smell, or a dusty smell, sort of like the room hadn't been used in a long time. And there were a couple of dark wood side tables with some gaudy, tear-drop table lamps on them.

"Do you remember what they looked like?" Greg inquired. "Why did you think they were gaudy?"

"I…..I don't know exactly. Maybe it was the color. I…I can remember thinking they didn't match the color of the furniture. I have no idea why I was even thinking about that, but I can remember coming to just before Prescott spoke to me and I had a little time to look around the room while I tried to remember what had happened to me and how I got there. The lamps were a pinkish color with these long, tapered crystals hanging down from them. And they had some sort of cherubs or something hanging on the sides like they were flying or something. Oddly enough, I don't remember any bedroom furniture in the room, even though I got the impression it was meant to be used for that."

Brian glanced over at Jennifer to notice her seemingly staring off into space, an odd look on her face. "Jennifer?" he said softly, squeezing her hand slightly. "What is it?"

Jennifer started, turning back to glance at her son-in-law. "I'm sorry, Brian…..I just have this odd feeling." She shook her head slightly in apology. "Go ahead – tell us what else you remember," she pressed him, her brow furrowed as if she were trying to remember something herself.

Brian sighed in frustration. "There's really not much else to tell. The door was closed and it wasn't very well lit – mainly light from the side lamps, which were pretty dim. I remember the door were really tall and fairly narrow – made of the same dark wood. I can remember a glass doorknob like the kind you see in old houses. It all just reminded me of some old haunted mansion or something."

He stared off into space, trying furiously to recall other details of the room. His eyes widened slightly as he added, "I remember one wall that had several bookshelves against it – the kind where you might expect someone to pull one out and have the bookshelves rotate around toward some secret room or something. It was kind of surreal, I guess, because of how it looked or because of the drugs I was given, I don't know." He looked over helplessly at Carl, Debbie, and Greg. "That's…..about all I remember. It was just this huge, big old house that seemed old and almost neglected."

Greg nodded as he hastily wrote some notes down on a white legal pad. "You don't remember anything else? What kind of floors did it have, for instance?" Any other lighting in the room? Wall sconces, overhead lighting, anything? Any pictures on the walls? Anything else unusual?

Brian sighed, scrunching his eyes closed as he tried to remember every little detail. "The floor was some kind of hard wood – maybe oak? I don't know. I don't remember any rugs on the floor, though. I remember a couple of old pictures on the wall – the kind that came in those wooden, oval frames with the bubble glass. Just a couple of black and white, matronly types with the dark dresses and high collars." He twisted his lips. "Any other time and I would have expected their eyes to follow me as I walked around the room – that is, if I could have walked at all." One more detail came into his mind as he added almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and there was this chandelier above me – some god-awful pewter monstrosity that had rams' heads on it or something weird like that….."

A strange sensation overtook Jennifer as she shook her head and her eyes glazed over while she escaped inside herself to try and shake the odd feeling of familiarity that washed over her. Brian's pain-filled voice faded into the background as she rapidly categorized in her head the information Brian had just recalled. Why was she feeling a sense of déjà vu as Brian described the room in which he had been held captive? Why did she think she _knew_ this house somehow? _Think, Jennifer…..think…..your son's life may depend on it….. _

Brian shook his head finally. "That's all I can remember, Greg. That and how sick that bastard sounded when he talked about Justin." He rubbed his free hand over his hair again in desperation. "We have to find him, Greg. God, we have to find him before the man does something to him." He knew Justin was strong – stronger than a lot of people gave him credit for – but the intensity of Prescott's desire for his husband made him sick with worry and repulsion. He feared that Justin may never find his way back from the darkness this man was determined to bestow upon him, and it terrified him to the depths of his soul.

"We're doing everything humanly possible to find him, Brian," Greg assured him. He turned to face Carl. "You want to call this information into the station in case it might be of help?

Carl nodded. "Yeah, I will. I'll also see if we can't try to do some sort of check on real estate in the area to see if we can't maybe do some matches with the type of residence. I know it's a long shot, but at least we know we're apparently dealing with an older residence, a two-story, and one that sounds like it's got a lot of square feet. Maybe we should check recent sale listings – the man didn't just come up with that house out of thin air. Or maybe we can check his corporation holdings to see if his sportswear company owns any residential real estate under a shadow name or subsidiary."

He stood up. "I'll also have an extensive background check done on this employee of Brian's that set up the lunch meeting downtown. Something tells me he just may be more involved in this than we know. I'll go make the call from the kitchen."

Greg nodded. "Anything's worth a shot," he told Carl as the detective turned to retrieve the cordless phone.

Brian's eyes darkened with anger; he hadn't even considered that his own employee could be culpable in this whole scheme. "He'd better NOT be involved in this, Carl," he told the detective with deadly calm. "Or I'll personally rip his eyes out of his sockets and his balls off."

"Honey," Debbie began in an attempt to get him to let Carl handle it; she didn't want Brian to endure any more heartache than he already had. "Let Carl check him out. You need to concentrate only on Justin right now, okay?"

Brian pursed his lips together at the sound of his husband's name, only managing a nod toward the woman he considered his true mother. Silently, though, he told the man, _make no mistake, Matheson – if you ARE involved, I'll be coming for you after I take care of Prescott first….. _

On the couch, Jennifer remained silent while the others discussed their next move, her mind frantically trying to grasp just why Brian's description of the room where he had been held captive resonated so much in her mind. _There was this chandelier above me – some god-awful pewter monstrosity that had ram's heads on it or something weird like that….. _

Jennifer snatched her hand away from Brian almost as if she had been burned and she stood up suddenly, her mouth gaping open in sudden epiphany. "Oh, My God!" she cried out as a wave of recognition, as well as horror, flooded over her and she clapped her hand over her lips. "Oh, My God!"

Brian stood up shakily to grasp her arm under her elbow, his face full of worry over Jennifer's expression. "Jennifer? What is it? Are you all right?"

Jennifer's eyes were almost wild in shock as she turned to face her son-in-law. "My God…..Brian, I KNOW that house!" Her face filled with guilt over a terrible thought - had she inadvertently sold a house to a man who had been stalking her son and now held him captive there?

Brian's eyes widened. "What? What are you talking about, Jennifer?"

"I KNOW that house!" she repeated. "I'm SURE of it! It sounds just like the one I sold the other day!"

Debbie gasped. "Are you sure, Honey?" she asked, rising from her seat to walk over to her friend. "That description could fit a LOT of houses around Pittsburgh."

Jennifer shook her head adamantly. "No, it's the same house, I just know it! The chandelier Brian described – it's one of a kind!" She turned rapidly to Greg. "It HAS to be the same house! Do you have your laptop with you?" she asked urgently.

Greg nodded as he quickly stood up. "It's out in the car – I'll go get it."

"Hurry!" Brian told the man excitedly as Greg practically ran out the door to retrieve it. Brian twirled Jennifer around to face him, putting both hands under her elbows to gaze down hopefully into her eyes. He could feel her trembling under his touch as he asked, "Jennifer, are you sure?" His pulse began to quicken at the thought that perhaps they might have a break in Justin's abduction. Was it possible Jennifer was right?

Jennifer's face peered back at him with certainty. "Yeah, I think so," she said shakily, letting out a breath of anticipation. The two of them looked up expectantly as Greg rushed back in with his laptop and quickly placed it on the kitchen table.

Everyone rushed into the kitchen area to wait impatiently as the computer booted up; Jennifer quickly sat down in front of the laptop as the desktop screen finally appeared to hurriedly access her real estate website.

"Damn it!" she cried out angrily; her hands were shaking so badly as she tried to key in the log-in information that she was having trouble typing.

Brian, standing directly behind Jennifer, placed his hands on her shoulders to try and steady her, even though inside his own heart was pounding rapidly in anxiety. "You can do it, Jennifer," he encouraged her urgently.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat at the thought of her son, before she took a breath and concentrated on typing in the information. Finally succeeding, she quickly keyed in the street name where the recently-sold house was located.

"Here it is," she said. Carl, Debbie, Greg, and Brian huddled behind her curiously, anxious to see for the first time what the site might look like.

"Monroeville?" Greg asked. Being mainly based out of Harrisburg, he wasn't as familiar with all the suburban areas of Pittsburgh as the rest of the party grouped together.

"Yeah," Carl said, nodding. "It's about 13 miles east of here."

Jennifer pulled up the initial, outside photo of a two-story historic mansion with a curved, turreted room located in the front and nestled in a thick grove of cedar trees. It was mainly brick on the outside, with imposing, narrow windows surrounding the front door and a thatch of vines growing on one side of the house's exterior walls. "Does it look familiar, Brian?" she asked hopefully.

Brian studied the photo and sighed. "No…..but I never got a good look at the outside. Are there more pictures, maybe of the inside?"

She nodded her head, clicking to bring up the additional photos of the listing. "There's several taken of the inside rooms – I know I remember some of them included the upstairs bedrooms," she added pensively as she quickly skimmed through the selections. "I'm trying to remember which room that chandelier was in," she said as she perused the additional photos. "The one I remember actually had lions' heads on them instead of rams'."

"Here it is!" she exclaimed as the fifth picture flashed on the screen and a multi-tiered, off-silver chandelier was spotted overhead, depicting several lions' heads in various poses at the end of each curved spoke. The room was decorated in a Victorian theme and showed a three-piece sitting room in the rear corner near a fireplace; the furniture was trimmed in a curved, polished dark wood with dark navy-blue cushions quite similar to Brian's previous description.

"Brian? Is this it?" Jennifer asked, holding her breath in anticipation as she turned around in her chair and waited for him to confirm what she already suspected.

Brian quickly scanned the photo; it took him only a few seconds to decide as he concentrated on the furnishings and especially the chandelier hanging overhead. Spotting a chair almost identical to the one he had been bound in sitting in a corner of the room, his breath hitched and his heart pounded as he verified, "That's it! That's the room I was in! I'm SURE of it!"

Jennifer smiled as she closed her eyes briefly in relief; the tears of hope ran down her cheeks freely as she realized that at last they knew where Justin was being held.

Brian let out a large breath of air as he leaned down to place a grateful kiss on his mother-in-law's cheek before straightening up to face Carl. "Well, we know where Justin is now - let's go!" he said urgently, turning abruptly to head toward the door.

Brian didn't take more than a couple of steps before Carl reached out to grab his upper hand. "Hold on a minute, Son – we've got police cars on patrol out there already; they can get there a hell of a lot faster than we ever could. I'll radio them to go check it out, but this man is known to be armed and extremely dangerous; he's already proven he's a cold-blooded murderer. If we barge in there now we could very well be endangering Justin's life."

Brian glared at his friend, his eyes wide with fury and disbelief as he mouth gaped open. "If you think I'm going to just wait here patiently while that man does who know what to Justin, you're full of _shit_, Carl! Now let the fuck GO of me!" he growled as he tried to twist out of the older man's grasp. Carl, however, wasn't going to back down as he continued to hold onto Brian's arm fiercely, exhibiting a surprising degree of strength honed from years of police training.

As Brian continued to struggle violently against Carl's restraints, Debbie, who was standing nearby, reached over to hold his face still with her hands as he glared back at her, his face filled with torment and barely-controlled rage. "Honey, as much as it fucking kills me to say it, Carl's right. We have to think about Sunshine's safety. The man's infatuated with him – he's not going to hurt him. Let Carl handle this….he knows what he's talking about."

She couldn't blame Brian, though – she knew how deeply in love he was with Justin and how he had always been his protector when he was in jeopardy. She had no doubt that despite her words of assurance to Brian, the young man she cared for as deeply as her own son was likely in great peril at the moment, and it fucking terrified her, also. She wasn't about, though, to let yet another one of her "surrogate sons" forge into a scene that may possibly be an extremely dangerous one for both HIM and Justin. The thought of losing one of them was too painful to even consider; losing _both_ of them, however, was downright unbearable.

"No!" Brian snarled, totally unconvinced. "I'm not going to stand here while that monster has Justin!" He looked over at Jennifer for support of his cause as he said, "Jennifer - tell them to let me go! I have to get to Justin before it's too late!" Jennifer, however, merely sat there as if in shock. "Jennifer? Say something, damn it!"

Jennifer shook her head. "I sold that house to Prescott, Brian," she whispered in agony. "How could I have done that? He's got my son! God, what have I done?"

Brian took a deep breath, momentarily halted by his mother-in-law's torment. He walked around to kneel beside Jennifer's chair and took her hand in his. "Jennifer, don't be crazy! You couldn't have known! No one could have known! The man's a fucking lunatic and I'm sure he didn't use his own name to buy that house!"

The tears flowed down her cheeks as she shook her head and whispered, "Brian...if he does something to Justin, I'll never forgive myself..."

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Jennifer!" he growled at her. "There's enough blame to go around for both of us right now, and it's not doing Justin any good! We've got to concentrate on finding him, and you just told us where to find him, so do you hear me? Stop beating yourself up and concentrate on what we need to do NOW, okay?"

As he stood up, he turned to stare into the intense, knowing eyes of his "mother," who had her hands defiantly on her hips.

"Seems you need to listen to those same words of advice, Honey," she said softly. "I'm asking you - listen with your head instead of your heart for now - let Carl do this the right way so he can help bring Justin back safe and sound, okay?"

"Deb, I can't just sit here and wait by the fucking phone! You know I won't do that," he told her.

"Brian," Carl interjected nearby. "No one's asking you to do that, or expecting you to. We're wasting valuable time arguing about this - just let me call this in and we'll head out there ourselves. But I'm warning you - you need to follow my instructions or Justin's life may hang in the balance. Do you understand?"

Brian let out a rush of air before saying quietly, "All right. Just hurry up, Carl!" he urged the man, as Carl nodded and rushed over to the cordless phone in the kitchen.

As Brian heard Carl speaking urgently into the phone, he bounced impatiently on his feet, barely able to control his sense of dread. _Hang on, Sunshine...Hang on, _his heart kept echoing over and over..._I'm coming._


	8. One Man's Angel is Another Man's Prince

_**A/N: Repeating the warning from the prior chapter - some mention of non-consensual sex...please do not read if that will bother you...**_

_**

* * *

**__Fifteen Minutes Later – Near Monroeville _

As Lane disposed of the condom in a bedside trash receptacle, Justin closed his eyes tightly as he hugged his arms to his chest in a sort of imaginary cocoon, wishing instead that it was Brian's arms holding him closely. It was the only way he could manage to lie there and not puke his brains out over what had just happened.

Prescott groaned softly as he reluctantly twisted off the smaller body, seemingly oblivious to Justin's revulsion over what he had just done to him. He lay next to Justin, one hand lying on the blond's chest almost possessively as his breathing slowly began to return to a more normal rhythm. He smiled; he still couldn't believe the heights of mind-blowing euphoria this blond had just managed to take him to with one simple fuck.

He turned his head to look over at the man lying next to him, surprised to find his face contorted in an expression of pain. "Did I hurt you, Angel?" Prescott asked Justin in sudden concern. He had waited so long for this moment – this flight of almost indescribable exhilaration – that in his deep, eager desire to possess this man he hadn't prepared Justin as much as he would have liked. Once he had sheathed his cock and began to enter the tight warmth beneath him, he couldn't hold back any longer. He had plunged in deeply, imbedding his rather large member into the wondrous expanse as he marveled at how wonderfully constrictive it felt, how he could feel every ridge and texture of his Angel's perfect body, almost as if it were made just for him.

Now that he had experienced the most earth-shattering climax he had ever felt – even more than he could have ever imagined – he wanted nothing more than to make love to this man over and over again for the rest of the night – the rest of their lives. But as he looked over at Justin's expression, he couldn't help feeling some degree of remorse that he hadn't thought of _his_ needs as well. He licked his lips as his eyes hungrily raked down the slender, sweat-soaked body of the man lying next to him and he observed the still-hard cock that desperately was in need of his attention.

Justin bit back a response between a laugh and a sob at Prescott's show of concern for his pain; the man didn't know what pain _was_. It wasn't just his physical pain – although right now, his ass was aching from the unprepared assault he had just endured, but the _mental_ anguish – that was almost too much to bear. It wasn't so much the violation upon his body, although it most certainly was, and of the most vile kind – it was the unfaithfulness he felt toward Brian, his husband, the man who had stood by him for so long during the whole ordeal with Prescott. He had totally committed himself in body and spirit to him, but right now, as Lane reached over to grasp his cock with his hand and Justin saw the man slowly lowering his mouth to suck on him, he didn't really feel anything except numb – blissfully numb. Only if he felt this way could he block out the feelings this man was unwilingly engendering in his body as, a few minutes, he felt the familiar tightening of his balls and he came involuntarily in the other man's mouth.

He lay there, spent, too humiliated with his body's betrayal to move or speak, as Lane slowly flopped back down on the bed beside him, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room except for the crackling of the slowly-dying embers in the fireplace, just like the slowly-dying hope in Justin's heart at his predicament and his worry over Brian. Justin turned his head away from the other man, too repulsed to look at him and too ashamed of his actions to acknowledge him in any way.

"Angel," he heard Prescott whisper. "That was…..amazing," the man breathed out raggedly. "It was everything I dreamed it would be. I can't wait for _you_ to fuck me now." As Lane reached his hand over with the intention of grabbing Justin's head to turn it toward his for another kiss, Justin recoiled at the first feel of the other man's touch, scooting his body as far over to the side of the bed as he could. "Don't touch me!" Justin snapped at him, refusing still to look at the other man.

Lane's face contorted into anger at the unexpected hostile response. "You don't mean that, Angel," he warned quietly. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear earlier that you belong to ME now….you will not be with any other man from now on – only _me_. That means that you service me and I service you – when and where I ask it of you. That is what two partners do in a relationship."

Justin _did_ laugh now – it was all too much to hold inside. This man truly had to be crazy. _Partners_? What, as in rapist and victim? He was unable to contain the scorn, almost the pity even from rising in his voice for this totally unbalanced man as he turned on his side and replied, "_Relationship?"_ He raised himself up to sit in the bed as he looked over at the other man. "You just _raped_ me, Lane! We don't HAVE a relationship‼"

Justin knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he had made a big mistake; the man's face instantly hardened into a look of fury as he reached over and roughly grabbed Justin's wrist. As Justin cried out in pain, Lane drug him down further the bed to lie prone on the mattress and rolled on top of him. As his body roughly pinned Justin to the bed, he growled, "You have just sealed Kinney's fate! I warned you, Angel…." He held Justin's hands tightly above his head as his eyes glared icily into his, the rejection obvious on his face.

"No, Lane…_Please!" _Justin whispered in a panic, his previously show of contempt quickly dissipating into fear, not for him but for Brian. "Don't hurt him!"

Lane snorted. "Did you think I was _kidding_ you, Justin? Well, you're about to find out just how serious I was!" He smiled evilly back at the other man as he added, "Somehow it's so much more delightful issuing the order to kill him using his own phone, too. Maybe once he's out of the way for good you'll show some proper _respect _for me…." As he rolled off the blond and started to get off the bed, however, Justin reached up to grab him by the arm, his face full of fright over what he had just done and what this would quite likely mean to Brian now because of his outburst.

"No…..Please…I'll do whatever you ask, I promise!" Justin lowered his eyes and whispered painfully, "Just don't hurt him." He couldn't help the rush of degradation and disgust roiling inside him at the moment, but he had to do this - for Brian.

Lane couldn't help smiling smugly to himself in victory just before he turned his face back toward Justin. His ruse – his threat to hurt Justin's husband, even though the man was long gone by now – was working perfectly. As long as Justin thought there was the slightest chance that Kinney would be hurt, he was sure his Angel would do whatever he was asked. It was a shame it had to be done this way – he would have much preferred that his Angel do his bidding willingly – but until Justin came to realize that he belonged with HIM, he was prepared to use whatever means was necessary to keep him by his side.

"Very well, Angel," he murmured, reaching over to brush some errant hair away from the man's weary but relieved face. "I'll hold off for now…for _you_. But I won't remind you again. If you refuse to do what I say from now on, I WILL have him taken care of. Do you understand?"'

Justin nodded silently as he swallowed a hard lump of worry in his throat; his eyes were wet with unshed tears – over his present fate but more over his constant fear for Brian. He had no doubt this man would carry out his threats – this man resembled nothing of the person he had once known.

He inhaled a shaky breath as he watched Lane reach over and trail a light finger possessively down the middle of his chest and come to rest on Justin's stomach; the blond's muscles involuntarily quivered under the feathering as Lane smiled in appreciation. "And now…..where were we? Oh, yes, time to resume more _pleasant_ activities."

As Lane pushed Justin over onto his stomach, he began to lick a leisurely wet trail from his shoulder blades down into the crease just about his buttocks. Justin's eyes filled with tears of frustration and he bit back a groan to silently curse himself as Lane parted his cheeks for better access to his hole and, curling his tongue for greater effect, thrust it promptly inside the pulsating flesh. He couldn't help his body arching up off the bed in response as Lane locked his hands on the back of his ass to hold him down firmly in place. "We've just begun, Angel," he whispered huskily, almost reverently, as he came up briefly to rest, his eyes never straying from the two delectable mounds of flesh staring up at him, his fingers making a swirling pattern of pink and dark red and leaving slight bruises on the somewhat tender cheeks. "I'm planning on taking all…..night…..long for _this_ treat."

Justin closed his eyes, resting his face on a pillow now becoming stained wet from his tears. Thoughts of Brian and their wedding exactly one year ago today invaded his mind as he prepared as best he could for the next onslaught to his body as well as his mind, waiting with dread for Prescott's next invasion to begin.

Just as he felt Lane's warm breath on his skin, he jumped a little and his heart began to pound as he heard and instantly recognized the familiar tone of Brian's cell phone ringing. "Shit!" Lane snapped, angry that his most desired goal had been at least temporarily derailed. He glanced longingly at the tender skin and kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before swearing once more.

Justin sighed in relief as he felt Lane's hands releasing him – at least temporarily – and heard the other man say, "Don't move, Angel," before he felt the man rising from the bed. He turned his head to observe Lane walking over to the dresser to retrieve Brian's cell phone from the dresser and flip it open.

"This had better been damned important," he snapped. Justin held his breath as he listened to Lane's side of the conversation, desperately hoping that somehow it was a good sign and he could overhear the caller's information.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine here," he heard Lane reply. "That's what I'm paying you such a fucking outrageous sum of money to do. Now what the hell do you want?" Justin's heart beat a little faster as he noticed Lane turning to look at him and their eyes met. He noticed Lane's expression was one of intense anger and irritation at having been interrupted. Any hint the man had ever had toward him in the way of tenderness or compassion seemed to have disappeared.

"What the fuck? You have GOT to be shitting me‼ How did this happen?" Justin's eyes widened as he continued to listen and Lane became increasingly agitated. _What was going on?_ "You TOLD me this wouldn't happen‼"

"Never mind!" Lane snarled. "Just do your damn job and take care of it‼ You know where I'll be, so don't fuck it up‼" Lane snapped the phone shut violently and immediately began to retrieve his clothes from the floor where he had haphazardly thrown them down earlier in the throes of lust. Justin watched in stunned surprise as Lane hurriedly thrust his legs into his pants and said to him, "Get up and get dressed – now!"

Justin took careful note when Prescott shoved the cell phone into his pants pocket before he whispered somewhat dazedly to the other man, "What?" unable to comprehend what had just happened. Prescott had mentioned wanting to fuck him all night, and now they were _leaving_?

"I said – get up NOW‼ We don't have time to waste!" Lane reached down and picked up Justin's clothing which had been lying in a heap next to his own. He threw the pants, briefs and shirt toward Justin as they landed in a heap on top of the mattress. "Get dressed NOW! Don't argue with me or you know what the consequences will be‼"

Justin's breathing hitched; what had just happened? Dare he ask? As he turned in the bed and rose to a sitting position to begin retrieving his clothing to put it on, his curiosity won out over thoughts for his safety as he ventured to ask, "What's going on?"

"You ask too many questions, Justin!" Lane growled as he threw his own shirt on. "Now you can either get dressed before we leave here or you can go naked – I really don't fucking _care_! But we're leaving in the next 60 seconds, with or without your clothes – your choice‼"

Justin's heart was pounding – they were _leaving_? He was torn between wanting to leave this place that now held nothing but horrible memories and wanting to stay, because it seemed like the only way anyone could possibly figure out where he was. Thoughts, also, of having to leave without finding his wedding ring immediately rose to his mind. He knew it was just a piece of metal technically that could easily be replaced, a mere symbol of his and Brian's love. But it was his _wedding ring_, something that stood for so much more than just a material object. It could be replaced with another one someday, but it would never be the same...

As he swung his legs around the side of the bed and began to put his briefs and pants on, he couldn't help whispering to Lane, "My ring….."

Now fully clothed, Lane walked over to stand in front of Justin, his eyes flashing in disbelief, "Forget about the fucking ring‼ You don't need it anymore‼" He roughly pulled Justin to his feet and grabbed him by the upper arms, evoking a cry of pain from his captive. "I don't want to _ever_ hear you mention that fucking ring – or that man's name – ever again! Do you understand?" He glared at Justin, his eyes almost black with jealousy and anger.

Justin refused, however, to respond aloud; he was never going to promise to forget about Brian. He never could and he never would, no matter _what_ this man demanded.

Lane glared at him for a few seconds longer before he released an impatient puff, apparently trying to calm himself, before he let go of Justin and snatched his shirt from the bed. "Now put this on," he said a little more quietly, but his voice was still filled with determination and left no room for argument. "We're leaving."

Justin stared back at Lane as he slid his shirt on, wondering what had just transpired. Whatever had happened, Prescott was definitely _not_ happy about it, and now they were leaving sooner than Prescott had intended. Had someone determined where they were and were they coming after him or Lane? Did that mean that Brian was actually all right and had helped pinpoint his location? But how was that possible if Lane was still holding him somewhere and using his life to keep Justin in line?

Justin knew Lane wouldn't tell him anything, but the last thing he wanted ironically was to leave this place, at least with Prescott. He knew once they left, any hope that they would be found would be virtually impossible. How he longed to know exactly where Brian was, and more importantly, if he was all right. He knew better, though, than to ask Lane – he was getting more hostile each time the subject was broached, and he couldn't risk getting him so upset that he would just tell whoever was holding Brian to get rid of him once and for all. That didn't mean that he couldn't try and stall their departure just a little longer…..

"Justin!" He heard his name roughly called from the other side of the room, noticing with a certain degree of surprise that Lane was standing by the now-opened bedroom door, waiting impatiently for him to join him. "I said, let's go – NOW‼" he snapped, holding out his hand expectedly.

Justin sighed; this was going to be more difficult than he had thought. "Lane," he said softly, "I need to use the bathroom first."

Lane let out an exasperated huff, undecided whether to accede to Justin's request or not. According to his man on the outside, time was extremely critical. From the GPS device he had managed to have hidden in the inside cuff of Brian's pants, the bastard had somehow managed to ascertain where he had been held and was presently within 20 minutes of their location and moving in fast. He just couldn't take the chance. "No," he told Justin decisively. "You're coming NOW – no argument. Now MOVE!"

Justin swallowed the bitter disappointment in his throat as he nodded slightly in resignation and slowly walked toward the doorway. As he came closer, Lane took a few steps and grabbed his hand to secure him firmly to his side as he half-pulled him toward the staircase. Letting go of Justin's hand temporarily, he waited for Justin to take a few steps in front of him before he followed closely behind.

As they reached the landing, he again took hold of the blond's hand to lead him around toward the rear of the hallway until they reached a closed door. "Open it," he told Justin curtly.

As Justin did as he was told, he opened the door to discover they were in a large, three-car garage. Presently, though, there were only two vehicles inside: a nondescript-looking, tan sedan and a medium-sized navy-colored SUV with dark, tinted windows.

Lane grabbed Justin's upper arm and pulled him toward the utility vehicle. Get in!" he barked at the blond, as he used his free hand to open the door and push Justin toward the interior. As Justin reluctantly conformed to the man's demand, he entered the vehicle and noticed there were two large plastic bins in the back, along with a cooler and a fairly-large pile of blankets and pillows. Clearly, Lane (or one of his henchmen) has considered the possibility that he might have to leave suddenly and had already prepared for that contingency.

Justin looked over as Lane entered through the driver's side and promptly locked all the doors with his remote, effectively making Justin a prisoner inside the vehicle. He watched as the older man pushed a button on a remote clipped to the visor and the nearest garage door immediately behind them began to open slowly. He bit his lip in anxiety over this latest event as Lane started the vehicle up and began to back out of the garage.

Despite his worry over Brian, and his fear for his _own_ safety as well, he still felt that Lane wouldn't hurt him. In his twisted, sordid way, the man still apparently felt something for him, or he wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. Bolstered somewhat by that fact, Justin ventured to ask, "Where are we going?"

Lane kept his eyes on the driveway as he backed up in a nearby turnaround and quickly turned the vehicle to begin leaving. "Somewhere safe, Angel," he finally told the blond; now that they were leaving, he knew Brian wouldn't be able to find them now, and he was feeling just a bit more relaxed. He smiled, making Justin's heart drop. "Somewhere where you and I will never be found. Remember, Angel – I will always be here to protect you from harm." He reached over to squeeze Justin's hand in confirmation as the blond tried with extreme difficulty not to snatch his hand away in contempt. He knew it was important he try as much as possible to win this man's confidence, to bide his time until he could plan a way to escape this horror.

To avoid having to look at the other man, Justin turned his head to stare out the window when Lane didn't volunteer any more information; he wished that it was daylight outside, because in the inky darkness it was nearly impossible to make out any distinctive landmarks. He surmised that they must be well out of the city due to the lack of lighting that abounded.

He started slightly when he heard Brian's cell ringing again. He looked over at Prescott, who he noticed was reaching into his right pants pocket to draw Brian's phone out before flipping it open to answer it.

"Yes?" he answered sharply.

Justin wished he could hear the other caller, but all he could make out was a somewhat deep voice that spoke for several seconds before Lane answered. "Good. See that they're _entertained_ so I can get us out of here, or you'll be _next_ on the list."

As he once more snapped the phone shut and again placed it back in his pocket, Lane noticed Justin staring at him. He almost told Justin how persistent his _husband _was (how he utterly despised that word, especially when it was used to describe Kinney – that bastard didn't _deserve_ his Angel) and that was why they had had to leave so quickly, but he decided not to tell Justin anything about Kinney being alive and apparently all too well. Leaving Justin wondering whether his little hubby was alive and well was the only thing no doubt keeping Justin from bolting from his side; dangling that agonizing possibility over his Angel's head was far more valuable and useful than any weapon would ever be.

Justin let out a sigh before addressing his captor once more. "Lane….how much longer do you think you can keep this _up_? I'm sure there're all kinds of police looking for you by now. That's why we had to leave, isn't it?"

"That's no concern of yours, Angel," Lane quietly warned him. "You let ME worry about it – I can handle it; I've thought of everything."

Justin pressed his lips together tightly to try and keep the tears of frustration from falling. As the vehicle continued into the blackness of night, he silently hoped with all his heart two things: that Lane hadn't been as careful as he _thought_ he had been and that Brian was alive and well out there, somewhere.

_

* * *

_

Ten Minutes Later – Monroeville Mansion

As Carl drove up the long, gravel driveway, the entrance was bathed in flashing lights circling on top of numerous police vehicles parked around the perimeter of the residence, providing an eerie backdrop to the night's inkiness. A couple of ambulances, as well as a coroner's van, were also parked nearby

Brian's heart had begun to pound harder and harder the closer they came to the house he had been held captive in only hours before – the same house that the man he loved was being held captive in. It was all he could do to remain in the unmarked police car as Carl drove as quickly as he dared up the driveway toward the front door. Brian's mouth dropped open at the sign of the emergency vehicles parked oustide. _God - not Justin..._

Just before he would have bolted from the door and ran to the entrance, Carl, as if reading his mind, quickly dashed his hopes of doing so. "Stay in the car," he told an incredulous Brian, who was sitting next to Jennifer, whose eyes were wide with fear as well. Both had insisted on coming with him, even though he was greatly concerned about their safety. It had been all he could do to convince Debbie to stay at home in case by some chance Justin tried to contact them; trying to persuade Justin's mother or worse, Brian, to remain there as well would have been totally futile. Neither was about to stay out of harm's way when Justin's life hung in the balance. He had finally acquiesced only on the stipulation that they had to do what he said without question.

Brian bit back a vehement protest as Carl stopped the car and turned around to repeat, "I said….stay in the car. I need to find out what the situation is first."

"Okay, okay," Brian growled, looking over at Jennifer, who had a tight hold on his hand; he could feel her hand trembling as she, too, waited anxiously for word about her son. "Just fucking hurry, Carl," he pleaded.

Carl nodded as he opened the door and was almost immediately greeted by a uniformed officer standing nearby. Brian and Jennifer both watched intently, hoping desperately that they could read lips to know what Carl was being told. Why was no one seemingly in a hurry? Where were Justin and Prescott?

"Brian," Jennifer whispered, the pain and fear evident in her voice. "What's happening? Why aren't they in there looking for Justin? Brian, what if….."

"Don't fucking_ say_ that, Jennifer!" Brian growled at her, turning momentarily to stare at her with angry eyes. "I don't want to hear it, you hear me? He's all right! And he's going to be coming out of there any second‼" He simply refused to consider any other possibility – not Justin. _God, please, not Justin…. _

Jennifer nodded, her tears awash with tears as she silently began to pray for her son's safety. _Please, God – not him. Not him…_

Brian riveted his attention back onto Carl and the other officer until he saw the two of them break off their conversation. As soon as Carl raised his hand and signaled him to approach him, he was out of the car in seconds, Jennifer following closely behind. He rushed over to Carl breathlessly, anxiously asking the older man, "What's going on? Where's Justin? Carl, where IS he?"

"Brian…."

"What the fuck has he _done_ to him? Where IS he? If he's hurt him, I'll fucking KILL him!" Brian had had enough of everyone's evasiveness; as he turned to rush toward the door, he was stopped cold by Carl's words.

"He's not there, Son – _neither _of them are." Before Brian had a chance to misinterpet his statement, he hastily explained, "There were three men standing guard outside the house when the officers arrived. Two of them were hurt and one was killed trying to prevent the officers from entering the premises."

"Oh, my God," Jennifer whispered, her face paling in fear. "This IS the right house, isn't it? Justin..."

"Carl grabbed Brian's shoulder as Brian struggled to break free. "Listen to me, Brian‼," He told him. "It probably IS the right house, but they did a thorough search of the entire grounds – and there is NO ONE else here! There's been evidence the house was recently occupied, but there's NO ONE in there!"

Brian stood there, frozen in shock. How was this _possible_? No, it can't be – no…Justin.

"No," he whispered aloud. "He _must_ be in there! Carl, let me look‼" he insisted, as he wrapped an arm around Jennifer's shoulders when she began to cry, placing her hands over her face in anguish. They had been so close…..so close. And it was all her fault that Justin had been lured here in the first place. She had actually _helped_ this horrible man to find a place to hide her son and now they were gone.

"God….what did I _do_?" she whispered, her shoulders shaking in torment.

"Jennifer," Carl said sensibly, "If he hadn't found his house, there would have been another one. You can't take responsibility for this crazy fucker."

"Carl, I want to see for myself," Brian insisted, his worries mounting over what happened to his husband, and where he was. "Let me go in there."

Carl hesitated. "They're still going over the entire house for evidence, Brian. I'm not sure that's such a good idea right now."

"You've got to be KIDDING me, Carl!" Brian growled. "I was held as a fucking _prisoner_ inside that house! Let me _in_ there! We need to find Justin!"

"Carl, please," Jennifer interjected, her eyes wide with worry. "Maybe he can notice something that no one else did."

Carl sighed as he finally nodded. "Okay. BUT," he added as Brian made to rush toward the door. "You have to stay with ME. It's important that any potential evidence not be disturbed, you understand?"

Brian breathed out an anxious breath. "Okay, okay," he agreed reluctantly, realizing even in his worried state that Carl was right. Okay - but let's just get IN there!"

Carl turned to Jennifer, his voice a reflection of his concern for her shaky appearance. "I'll get an officer to stay with you," he told her, motioning with his hand for a nearby officer he was familiar with to approach them. As he instructed the man to stay with Justin's mother, he turned to Brian. "Okay, let's go." Brian hurried with him over to the door as Carl verified with a man standing nearby that the doorknob and surrounding frame had already been dusted for fingerprints.

Carl turned the knob and entered the residence, observing a large staircase leading upstairs and numerous rooms congregated on either side of a long hallway. The remnants of a fire could still be smelled in the nearest room to their right as he studiously examined the expansive residence where apparently Prescott had held both Justin and Brian recently.

"Does any of this part look familiar?" Carl asked his companion.

Brian silently shook his head in disappointment. "No," he painfully whispered. "None of it." He couldn't help wondering where Justin had been kept, and where he was now. Was he all right? Was he even still _alive_? As much as he despised the idea, he actually hoped that Prescott really _did_ care for Justin; that might be the only thing that was presently keeping the man he loved alive.

He glanced up as he noticed a man walking out of the nearby parlor room. "Detective," the man greeted Horvath.

"Jenkins," Carl greeted him. "This is Brian Kinney – I believe he was one of the parties being held here earlier." The other officer nodded silently in acknowledgement at Brian. "It's okay if you speak in front of him – the kidnap victim is his husband."

Carl inquired, "Can you tell me what you've found so far? I was told there was evidence of recent occupation."

Jenkins nodded. "Yes – we found three fires that had been recently constructed – the one upstairs was still burning when we got here. There was also evidence of a dinner that had been prepared earlier in the dining room down there." He pointed down the hallway to a room on the far left.

He rather self-consciously glanced over at Brian before he turned back to Carl to continue. "We also found three rooms upstairs that seemed to have been used recently – the master bedroom and bathroom, along with a another room that was fairly empty – just had a couple of chairs and a table in it."

Brian let out an anguished breath. _Another room with a couple of chairs and a table in it._ _A master bathroom and….bedroom_. "Oh, God…"

Carl placed an arm on Brian's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, trying to silently encourage the brunet to focus. "Is forensics collecting evidence upstairs?"

Jenkins nodded. "Yeah…..both rooms, as well a check of all the other ones. Looks like just the two rooms and the bathroom were the only ones used upstairs, though. The boys found some duct tape and a chair set up in the middle of the one fairly empty room."

Brian and Carl looked at each other, both confirming silently that this was, indeed, the house that Prescott had held Brian in to lure him here as bait for Justin.

Jenkins reached in his pocket to retrieve a baggie. "They also found this near the chair, too." He held up an intricately designed copper bracelet for Carl's inspection.

Carl heard Brian gasp next to him and flinch as if he had been punched in the stomach. "God – I didn't realize," he whispered painfully as he turned to clasp his left wrist with his right. "How could I have not noticed?"

"You recognize this, Brian?" Carl asked, noticing the wounded look on his friend's face.

"Yes," Brian managed to verify as he closed his eyes in pain. "It was Justin's wedding present to me." His mind drifted to a different time and place one year ago when Justin had presented him with the unusual, one-of-a-kind bracelet on the island of Mykonos as his wedding gift. The top of the bracelet, which was inscribed with Greek letters, simply stated "_loved_." He had sworn to Justin at the time that he would never take it off, and he hadn't – not until today. And the worst part of all was that somehow he hadn't even noticed when it had fallen off…..he must have been too worried about his husband. But the knowledge that he had failed to realize he had lost it hurt tremendously. Was this a terrible omen of what was to come? "How could I have not noticed?" he whispered again, almost to himself, almost ashamed of such a blatant oversight.

Carl looked at him sympathetically; he could pretty much figure out just what was going through Brian's head and how much hurt he was feeling at the moment. "Anything else found so far?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Jenkins told him, reaching in his other pocket to retrieve another small plastic baggie. "We found this in the parlor room over there – on the floor."

He regretfully held the bag out to Horvath, whose heart dropped to his stomach as he recognized the familiar symbol of faithfulness and love. "Brian? Son?" he asked gently as he turned to notice that Brian's face had turned white and his eyes had inexplicably begun to fill with tears. "Is this Justin's?"

Brian swallowed the lump of agony in his throat. He knew Justin would _never_, _ever_ take his wedding ring off; he had had to practically fight tooth and nail to get it in the first place – Brian being the epitome of vacillation when it came to such a firm commitment. No, Justin treasured that ring and he would never willingly remove it. That could only mean one thing – either Prescott had harmed him or he had forced him somehow to take it off.

"Yes," he finally managed to whisper as he noticed Carl still waiting for a reply. "It's his." He closed his eyes, a few tears escaping but he didn't fucking care – he was in too much pain and too worried to care about standing on masculine ceremony. "Carl…we have to find him. _We have to find him_."

"Did you already dust this for prints?" Carl asked the other man, who nodded. He accepted the baggie from the other officer and, reaching in to retrieve the gleaming band, reached over and gently placed it in Brian's shaking hand. "You take care of this until Justin comes home, okay?" he said.

Brian held his hand out to study the slender band he had placed so lovingly on Justin's hand a year ago today; he didn't have to hold it up to his face to know what the inscription would say inside: _For My Prince_. He let out a ragged sigh of torment as his long fingers slowly, tightly curled over the band for safekeeping. "I will," he finally whispered to Carl, nodding with just a hint of a smile to indicate his gratitude to the other man for his understanding and inherent optimism.

The sound of another police officer jogging down the steps to greet them made both men look up. Lieutenant Daniels, a forensics unit officer with Horvath's precinct, stopped at the landing to greet his superior. "Carl," he said, nodding somberly.

"Daniels. This is Brian Kinney – we think he was held captive upstairs earlier today. He's already identified a bracelet and ring found here as belonging to him and to the other victim, his husband, Justin Taylor."

Daniels looked somewhat surprised by this unusual disclosure, but remained silent as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Mr. Kinney," he said formally before returning his attention back to Carl. "We dusted the entire recently-occupied rooms for forensic evidence."

Carl nodded. "What did you find?" As the other man seemed to hesitate slightly, Carl told him, "It's all right – I think Brian needs to know what you found. Go ahead."

"You sure?" Daniels pressed the other man, knowing that what he was about to say would not be pleasant.

Carl frowned, not liking the other man's reluctance but still feeling it was vital to their case that Brian know everything. "Yeah – go ahead."

As Jenkins and Horvath stood next to Brian, Daniels nodded and proceeded with his preliminary report. "Some of my men are still going over the rest of the house," he told them. "But we've finished our search of the two main rooms and bathroom upstairs that appeared to be used recently. We found some hair and saliva samples in the bathroom, where there was evidence of someone showering, along with some towels that were still damp."

He lowered his voice as if it might blunt his next statement, but he knew it wouldn't, not if he was reading the expression on Kinney's face properly – from the look of agony on the brunet man's face, this man was already in a lot of emotional pain. What he was about to say was only going to make it worse.

He forced himself to look straight at Carl as he softly disclosed, "We found evidence in a garbage can in the master bedroom of recent sexual activity – there was a condom and wrapper collected for evidence. It's been taken to the lab already. We also collected the bedding on the mattress in the master bedroom for further analysis as well. We should have those results back sometime tomorrow, due to the urgency of the situation."

Carl let out a rush of air at that revelation; he couldn't say it surprised him, but he was somehow hoping that Prescott's fascination with Justin hadn't yet progressed to that stage. As he looked over at Brian, though, he knew he was thinking the exact same thing. Brian looked as if someone had just punched him in the gut; his face was contorted in a mixture of pain and fury, while his lips were pursed tightly together. His eyes had darkened almost to a deep shade of black and the breathing out of his nose was rapid and ragged as his fingers tightened even further over Justin's wedding band clenched in his hand. Carl noticed with concern that Brian's fingers were turning white from the force of his grasp, the fingernails jabbing into his palm as if it could somehow blunt his pain.

"Brian….." Carl began, but he really had no idea what to say. How do you attempt to pacify someone who had just learned his husband had been raped by another man? Because he knew Justin – there was no doubt whatsoever that that was exactly what it had been – Justin loved Brian deeply and he would _never_ willingly have sexual contact with any other man, not with the way he idolized him.

"That'll be all, guys – get back to work, okay?" Carl said to the two officers, who silently nodded and left him and Brian relatively alone at the bottom of the steps. "Brian…." Carl began again, reaching out a hand to try and place it on Brian's lower arm in sympathy.

But Brian angrily snatched his arm out of the other man's reach. "He's _dead_, Carl!" he initially replied with ominous quiet, finally coming out of his relative comatose state. His voice rose quickly as his face turned a dark shade of angry red. "He is fucking DEAD! I will rip his arms out of their sockets, and pull out his balls and dick so hard he'll never be able to fuck so much as a _cockroach_‼ I won't stop until that monster is DEAD, do you understand?" Still tightly holding onto Justin's ring, he ran his free hand through his hair in nervous, pent-up frustration and anxiety. "He's DEAD," he repeated more quietly now, the reality hitting him. He knew until they could find Justin, he could do nothing about Prescott. "Justin," he whispered almost to himself. "God…Justin." Justin was in danger, and probably terrified out of his mind...and all because of him.

As Brian stood there helplessly, he slowly opened his palm to finger the delicate band with his other hand, trying somehow to send telepathic word to Justin that he wouldn't stop until he found him.

"We'll find him," he heard Carl vow then with quiet fury as he finally placed a hand on Brian's bicep. "And then you'll have to take a fucking number and get in line."


	9. A Message Worth  a Million Words

From the relative safety of the car, Jennifer anxiously watched the front door of the mansion for any sign of Carl or Brian; she was hoping that any second now, they would be coming out of the house to report that they knew where Justin was and they were going to go get him. She knew, however, that she was probably kidding herself; this man had relentlessly pursued her son from the moment he had first seen him, and apparently hadn't stopped even while he was incarcerated; this plan of his had obviously been well-thought out beforehand. Now, though, his plans had been interrupted and he had been forced to take her son away once more to some place they didn't know about. How would they find Justin _now_?

She closed her eyes in anguish, the tears threatening to overcome her; all sorts of horrible images filled her mind about what her son was enduring presently. Where could Justin _be_? And even more so, what was Prescott _doing_ to him at the moment? Was he all right? Was he scared? She prayed that he would be able to stay strong, confident in the knowledge that so many people loved him, especially Brian. She knew how strong her son was – he had endured so much in his relatively young life and had always managed to persevere somehow. But _this_ – this was almost too much for ANYONE to bear. _Hang on, sweetheart…..hang on. __Remember how much we love you, how much BRIAN loves you…_

_Brian_. As worried as she was about Justin, Brian had to be downright frantic with concern. Since Prescott had started his campaign to snatch Justin out from under him so long ago, she and Brian had become co-conspirators in their attempt to help Justin realize who truly loved him. She had never doubted for a second how deeply Brian loved her son, and this last year had only reinforced that belief. Justin had been so happy as a newlywed in his new home he shared with Brian – so very happy. And now this…God, it was just too much.

Her breath caught in her throat as she finally detected the front door opening and she saw the two coming out, silhouetted against the light pouring from the interior of the house. She bit her lip, barely able to remain in the car, as they slowly walked over toward the vehicle. Her hope of hearing good news, though, was quickly shattered as she was able to quickly ascertain Brian's demeanor; the stooped shoulders and devastated look on his face told her all she needed to know. "Brian?" she whispered, as he opened the passenger door and climbed in next to her. Carl opened the driver's side door and gently closed it after him, choosing to remain silent while Brian told Jennifer what they had found out. He had advised Brian that he would trust his judgement as to how much to tell her at the moment.

Brian let out a sigh as he reached to take his mother-in-law's slender hand in his own; he swallowed the lump in his throat at he peered into her worried eyes; they were so reflective of his _own_ torment at the moment and painfully reminded him of _another_ pair of blue eyes that he desperately wanted – and needed – to see. "Jennifer," he whispered in a choked voice, "He was definitely in the house."

Jennifer bit her lip as she gazed at her son-in-law. He appeared almost hesitant, even afraid. _What was Brian NOT telling her_? "How do you know?"

Brian exchanged a look with Carl in the front seat before he released her hand to reach in his pocket and draw out the narrow band of platinum; the adornment reflected off the lights shining through the windows of the house as he held it up to her. "They found this," he said softly, clearing his throat before he continued. "They found it on the floor downstairs."

Jennifer instantly knew it had to be her son's; she _also_ knew that there was no way he would have removed it willingly. "On the _floor_?"

Brian nodded, too upset to try and answer aloud for several seconds. He swallowed again before responding, "Yeah. I know….he would have _never_ taken it off unless…."

"Unless he was forced to," she answered for him as Brian nodded again. The two of them stared at the ring and the ramifications of what it meant, before Brian gently took the piece of jewelry and placed it on his left pinkie finger for safekeeping, right next to his _own_ wedding ring. Somehow simply having Justin's ring on his own hand helped, at least somewhat, to give him hope that soon, very soon, he would be placing it once more on his husband's finger again where it belonged. _God, Justin…..where ARE you? __I NEED you….I LOVE you….. _

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to return to the present. "They also found this," Brian told her, pulling his sleeve back to reveal the bracelet Justin had purchased for him a year ago on their honeymoon, now encirclin his wrist once more. He shook his head, disgusted and ashamed that he had somehow forgotten about it in the events that had happened over the past few hours. "They found this upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I'm sure it's the same room that fucker held me in while he waited for Justin to show up." He felt anger welling up inside of him, not only because of what Prescott had done but because he had used his own cell phone, as well as Justin's love for him, to lure him here…..

He gasped as a sudden revelation hit him full force and he gripped Jennifer's arm almost painfully. "Carl! My God!"

Carl turned back around in his seat to look at him with concern as Jennifer's eyes widened in alarm. "What?" he asked urgently.

"My _cell phone_! Prescott HAS to have it with HIM‼ Can't you figure out where he is by locating a nearby cell tower?" His heart leapt at the thought that perhaps – just perhaps – there WAS a way to find Justin…..

Carl's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Are you _sure_ he has it?"

"Of _course _I'm sure‼" Brian snarled, his voice rising in impatience; the longer they waited to find his phone, the better chance Prescott had to either get farther away from them or hurt Justin more. "He CALLED Justin with it to tell him to meet me here! They didn't find it in the house, did they? He HAS to still have it!"

Carl considered that possibility. "Well, if he STILL has it with him – if he's been stupid enough to KEEP it somehow – yeah, it might be possible. Depends on whether he has it on and how it's configurated."

"Well, FIND OUT!" Brian demanded as Jennifer looked at him, daring to hope that perhaps Brian had figured out a way to find her son. "We're _wasting _fucking TIME! He could be doing God knows WHAT to him!" He didn't even want to think about that – he _already_ knew what the man had done to Justin and the thought of him _continuing_ to assault his husband against his will filled him with an intense fury – as well as pain – that he didn't even realize he could feel until now. From the moment the man had taken Justin, he had decided he didn't _care_ what happened to his own life afterward – that was inconsequential now. Prescott was a DEAD man, no matter whether he was eventually apprehended alive or not.

Jennifer's heart began to pound with the possibility that maybe, just maybe Justin could be located after all. "Carl? Please…it might be our only chance to find him."

Carl nodded. "Okay…..I'll need your cell phone number, the type of phone you use, and which carrier." As Brian hurriedly gave him the information and he quickly jotted it down on a small notepad, he promptly flipped open his phone to call the precinct to set the process in motion.

As Carl relayed the needed information, Jennifer turned to her son-in-law and placed her other hand on his shoulder; neither was sure who was comforting whom at that moment; it was probably a case of both. "You really think this'll work?" she asked him.

"I don't know," Brian answered her honestly. "But it's all we've got right now."

"What about roadblocks?" Jennifer asked him. "They had to have left here in _some_ type of vehicle. Are they searching every vehicle that tries to leave this area?"

"They're trying," Carl answered her as he closed his cell phone and turned to face them. "As soon as you figured out which house it was, I called the local PD here and requested they immediately set up a search grid to check out any vehicles coming in or leaving the area," he confirmed. "But you have to remember – Prescott still had a small window of opportunity to leave before his whereabouts were determined." His expression softened sympathetically as he admitted, "If they're haven't been found by now, chances are it means he was able to slip through the police dragnet before they were discovered."

Brian shook his head in anger and frustration. "Fuck!"

"I'm sorry," Carl told them sincerely. "But I rather be straight up with you than give you false hope."

"What about the cell phone?" Jennifer asked him hopefully as Brian looked at him with the same type of desperate expression.

"Well, the boys are working on it right now." As he watched Brian about to issue a protest, he added firmly, "We can't just immediately obtain the information from your telephone carrier without a court order, Brian, no matter _how_ critical the situation is. That being said, however," he hastened to add as he noticed Brian about to explode, "That doesn't mean we can't speed it up because of the circumstances. I've put in an emergency request with the court to get the order issued ASAP. I also made a quick call to Greg back at the house - he has some connections and might be able to help accelerate the process for us."

Brian huffed in impatience. _Don't they fucking understand what's at STAKE here?_ He sighed in annoyance and worry. "How long will THAT take? Justin's LIFE is on the line here, Carl‼"

"Son, don't you think I _realize_ that? Debbie's going to rake me over the coals for not finding that young man and I care about him, too. There's just no other way to speed it up anymore than what I'm already doing," he told the other two. "I'm sorry – my hands are fucking tied, too…."

Jennifer reached out a hand and placed it on Brian's cheek in an attempt to sooth him. "Brian….Honey, you know Carl's doing everything he can. He cares about Justin, too – you know that."

Brian let out an audible sigh, running one hand through his hair in frustration and pain. "I…..I know," he admitted. "It's just…God, Jennifer! If he fucking _hurts_ him….." He didn't have the heart to tell her that he knew Justin had _already _been hurt and would most likely be hurt again, over and over….. The idea of what his husband, the man he loved, was going through right now was excruciating, but he couldn't bring himself to let her know this, and he knew Carl would keep his confidence for as long as he thought it was the right thing to do. Telling Jennifer about what the police had found upstairs would only deepen her agony and not change what had already happened.

"I know, Honey, I know," she murmured to him, leaning over to place her forehead against his. "We have to stay strong for him, though…..he'll get through this, just like he has before – we ALL will – how, I don't know. But I have to believe that, and so do you; it's the only way I can deal with this." Brian could hear a ragged sigh escape her lips before she pulled back from him and gave his arm one quick squeeze before releasing it. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it, she turned to Carl to ask, "What's our next step, then?"

Carl twisted his mouth in reluctance. "Honestly? As much as I hate to say it, until we get the court order all we can do is wait."

"WAIT?" Brian snapped. "Are you shitting me? Carl – I can't just fucking WAIT for a MAYBE‼"

"What choice IS there, Brian?" Carl countered. "The house here has been searched thoroughly and fingerprinted, and the lab is checking out the evidence that was collected. They've got the roadblocks still up and there's been an APB issued for all the area airports in case he tries to take Justin on a plane somehow. And Prescott's goons that were rounded up are being questioned. But unless they spot his vehicle - and we don't even know what the hell it even _looks_ like – or until they get the results back and we get the official okay to try and locate a cell tower near your phone – IF he's still even using it, that is – there's nothing more we can DO, Brian. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. I suggest we go back to the house and wait until we hear something further."

Brian shook his head, incredulous. "Go _back to the house?_ But Justin is HERE, not in Pittsburgh‼ Uh, uh…..I'm staying right HERE, Carl!"

"Brian…..Son – we have NO way of knowing where Justin or Prescott IS right now‼ They could be _anywhere_ by now, don't you see? It isn't going to matter if we stay here OR at the house – until we know something, until we know where he took him, we can't act on it."

"How long, Carl? Huh? How fucking long before we DO know something?" Brian couldn't believe this – he couldn't just sit on his hands and wait for a glimmer of hope while that monster was doing who-knows-what to Justin. "I'm hoping we'll have something by first light," Carl told them as Brian gasped in disgust. "I'm sorry, Brian – but that's the best I can do."

Brian sighed loudly. He couldn't accept that; there must be _something _else they could do…..but what? He furiously wracked his brain for an idea – _anything _— that might help them locate his husband. Time was running out – somehow he just knew it, and it filled him with terror.

He still thought his cell phone might be the solution somehow, but Carl said it would take several hours at the very least before they could obtain permission to search for its signal. That didn't mean, however, that maybe it couldn't be used in some _other_ way…..

"Carl, I've got an idea," Brian said suddenly, his eyes widening in revelation.

_

* * *

_

Near the Alleghany National Forest – North of Pittsburgh

Justin tried feverishly not to close his eyes in exhaustion as he leaned back in the passenger seat; he was so wary of what Lane was planning for them next as they drove on in silence, the tenseness so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. But he was so tired – so very tired – having not slept for several hours; and his heart was heavy with worry over Brian. _Brian…..Was he all right? Was he even ALIVE? Where WAS he? Was he worried about him, too?_ He didn't even have to ask himself that question – he knew Brian would be out of his mind with worry right now, just like he was about HIM.

If Lane hadn't continued to threaten him with thoughts of harming his husband, Justin would have tried to escape long ago. But he just couldn't take that chance. He knew that one more little flicker of disobedience toward this man and he wouldn't hesitate to give the order to kill the man he loved. He knew that next to owning him body and soul, killing his husband would give Lane the next greatest amount of pleasure. Well, Lane could continue to force himself on him – take sadistic pleasure in possessing his body against his will – but the man would _never_ own his soul – or his heart. That belonged to only one man and always would.

"How much longer, Lane?" he asked softly. "Where exactly are we going?" he ventured to query, afraid to make his tormentor mad but too anxious and curious not to risk asking.

His heart sank as he watched the other man actually smile, seemingly in triumph or even delight. "Some place where they won't think to look for us, Angel," Prescott responded enigmatically. He looked over at Justin briefly, causing the blond's blood to run cold by the almost inhuman look on the other man's face. "Then it'll be just you and me…_forever_."

Justin heart pounded in fear at that ominous statement, but he finally closed his eyes and let exhaustion overtake him at last – he decided that despite his uneasiness, at least it would spare him from having to look over at the man he couldn't stand any longer and he was just too fucking tired to hold his eyes open any longer. Where had the caring, gentle man gone that he had first met so long ago at that restaurant? The man that had actually impressed him with his tenderness, his patience, his kindness? Where ever he had gone, it was obvious that he would never be coming back; in his place was this callous, unfeeling man instead, a man who was only interested in satisfying his own needs.

At that moment, Justin realized the only possible way he could ever escape this man was to play along with him, pretend that he actually _liked_ being with him, that he was _happy_ with being his prisoner. It would be the hardest fucking thing he had ever done, but for his sake – and Brian's – he had to try. Until he could somehow gain this man's trust, he knew he would never let him out of his sight. How he would be able to stomach doing that, however, was almost impossible to tell. For now, however, his weariness overtook him as finally, his eyes closed, he fell into a fitful slumber as they drove on into the inky darkness.

_

* * *

_

Thirty Minutes Later

Justin's eyes fluttered open in disorientation as he felt the car slow down and stop. As the motor was turned off, he couldn't help yawning before turning to glance over at Prescott, who was staring back at him intently, his face eerily reflected in the green lights of the dashboard.

The older man smiled in satisfaction as he informed Justin, "We're here, Angel."

Justin frowned as he tried to look around and catch his bearings. He was dismayed at how black it was; with the car's headlights turned off and no discernible lights anywhere nearby, he couldn't see anything outside of the car. "Where ARE we, Lane?" he asked curiously, his heart filling with dread over this seemingly secluded location. How in the world would Brian or anyone else find them HERE? Were they even still in Pennsylvania?

"Just a cozy little temporary hideaway," he mysteriously advised his companion. "Stay there," he ordered the blond, as he turned to open the car door.

Justin very briefly considering flinging the car door open and making a run for it. But even if he _wanted _to open the door and escape, Justin knew he would have no idea where he was – he couldn't see anything outside the car and if he tried to run, he figured he would only wind up hopelessly lost. Where could they BE? As much as he hated it, he forced himself to stay where he was and comply until he could get his bearings a little more accurately.

He nervously waited, then, for Lane to walk around the car and open the door. He didn't have long to wait, as Lane eagerly walked around the car and opened the passenger door. "Time to get out, Angel," he instructed the other man as he extended his hand toward him in invitation.

Justin didn't dare refuse this man; he had already seen glimpses of the temper he had and he couldn't take the chance of igniting it even further. He swallowed the bile that rose into his throat as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached out to take the man's proffered hand to allow himself to be pulled from the car.

Justin closed his eyes in repulsion as Lane immediately took his hand in his and then wrapped his arm around his waist firmly before pushing him toward a shadowy shape of what appeared to be some sort of cabin nearby. They stopped at what must have been the door, as Lane let go of his waist to reach inside his pocket. He could hear Prescott jiggling what sounded like keys as he pressed a button on a miniature, flat-shaped flashlight and used the narrow-band of illumination to locate the proper key to the cabin door and fit it into the slot. Unlocking the single, rustic, wooden entrance, he turned the knob and pushed it open. "After you, Angel," Lane murmured, watching Justin intently as he noticed the younger man hesitating to enter. "Don't even think about it, Justin," he answered curtly as if reading his mind. "Trust me – if you try and run away, you'll suffer the consequences. Your precious Brian's blood will be on YOUR hands then."

Justin shuddered at the evil spewing from this man's vitriolic voice; his tone was steely and hard as he assured Justin of just what would happen if he tried to leave him. At least now he knew that apparently Brian was still alive, and that warmed his chilled heart just a little at the thought. _Brian…..help me_, he silently pleaded as he slowly walked ahead of Lane into the dark space_._ _Help show me what to do_…..

The flashlight in Lane's hand danced in flickering patterns across the rather confining space as Justin looked around the room. He could see just enough to ascertain that they were in some sort of rustic, one-room cabin as he stood there, unsure what to do. He watched as Lane crossed over to a Formica-topped table and picked up what appeared to be matches. He heard the telltale whoosh of a match lighting before he noticed Lane pick up the top of a kerosene lamp and press the match to the wick to light it. The room was instantly dressed in the soft, amber glow from the lamp as Prescott replaced the hurricane glass over the wick and turned around to face Justin.

"What do you think, Angel?" Prescott asked, smiling as if they were standing inside a $700 a night room at a swanky hotel. "Cozy, isn't it? And oh so secluded," he added huskily, slowing beginning to advance toward Justin.

Justin shuddered at the other man's lust-filled voice as the man came closer. He couldn't believe that after everything they had been through in the last few hours that this man was again approaching him for sex.

Before Lane could get close enough to touch him, though, he had to try somehow to reason with him, if that was still possible. He put his hand up in supplication. "Lane…..Please…..it's been a long day, and I'm so tired. I need some sleep. Please." To his utter astonishment and relief, the man stopped a few feet away from him to study his face, apparently trying to determine if Justin was being truthful or merely trying to avoid him.

Prescott _did_ notice that his Angel's face was drawn and his eyes did not have their tell-tale sparkle to them; the slender body, as well, was hunched over as if in exhaustion. Perhaps Justin, then, was truly tired. He did not want his lover becoming sick or too weak from sleep deprivation or from lack of food. Besides, now that they were firmly hidden away in one of the most primitive areas of the national park, he was confident that they had plenty of time to rediscover each other. He was certainly looking forward to that, especially after getting his first taste earlier that evening.

His expectations as to what it would be like to finally make love with his Angel had been nothing compared to the actual event. Just the thought of possessing this man for the rest of his life made his entire body tingle and his heartbeat to quicken, but he knew he had to be considerate of Justin's physical needs as well. And for now, sleep would have to take primary importance over his own desires. He nodded at the other man. "Of course, Angel, I understand; you DO look tired. We have the rest of our lives now. Let's get some rest."

Justin swallowed a lump in his throat; he was relieved that Prescott was apparently going to agree to allow him to get some sleep, but he was also dreading that fact that the man would no doubt be sleeping in the same bed with him. As he looked around the room, he only saw one other door that apparently led to some sort of bathroom; the single, double-sized bed he observed lying in a corner of the room was apparently the only bed. He knew the man would never agree to let him sleep on the couch located over on the far wall – it appeared to be made out of some sort of uncomfortable, brown corduroy fabric, but to Justin it would have been his sanctuary from this relentless pursuer who wouldn't leave him alone. He had to try, though. "Lane…..you take the bed – I can sleep on the couch." But his hopes were dashed when the man quickly insisted, "No, Angel….there's plenty of room for both of us…..in the bed. Take off your clothes."

Justin closed his eyes in reprehension. He couldn't do this again – not tonight. He _never_ wanted this man to fuck him ever _again_ – but realistically he knew that wasn't going to happen. This man was relentless and seemed to have a sickness to possess him. Somehow Justin knew his nightmare may be just beginning….But he just couldn't endure another round so soon after the first one.

"Lane," he whispered. "Please….." He despised having to almost BEG this man for _anything_….but it seemed to be the only thing that struck any type of decent chord in what little sense of humanity was left in him. "It's so cold in here….can't I just keep my clothes on for tonight?"

Lane walked over to Justin now and leisurely trailed a hand down his sternum as he finally murmured, "You're so fucking beautiful, Angel, so fucking beautiful…I love your body." Justin closed his eyes, trying hard to push the sight of this man away somehow. He dreaded what the man might be planning, so it was with enormous relief when he heard Lane finally agree, "Very well, Angel, I don't want you getting sick on me. But you can't sleep in those clothes – I bought you some pajamas to wear. Although I don't expect them to get much use," he added, his voice deep with lust as his eyes darkened at the thought of Justin donning the red, silk pajamas he had made sure one of his men purchased for him to wear. The color of the pajamas would look magnificent against his pale skin; he couldn't wait to see them on him. He silently praised himself for his ability to preplan so many of the details that had been needed to keep them hidden from the rest of the world. If it was up to him, he would be quite content to keep Justin to himself forever.

"I'll go get the bins," he told his companion, walking over to the door to unlock it. "But just in case you're wondering, Justin – the door will be locked from the outside. It's the only door and the windows all have bars on them. So there's no point in trying to get out. I'll be right back," he told Justin as he opened the door and stepped out, closing the door and turning the key in the lock to secure it from the outside.

As soon as the man had left, finally leaving him miraculously alone for a few seconds, Justin's rather stoic resolve instantly disappeared, as he sat down on the nearby bed and placed his head in his hands and wept. His body shook as a tide of great loneliness and longing invaded his body; he tried to imagine Brian there with him, his lean, strong, warm arms surrounding him in a shell of love and protection as he sat on the bed with him and held him, rocking him to soothe his pain and worry away like he always did. _Brian…where ARE you? I love you so much…..I need you….._

He quickly wiped his tear-stained eyes and cheeks with his sleeve as he heard the door being unlocked once more. He stood up as Lane re-entered the cabin carrying two plastic crates. Putting them down on the kitchen table, he pulled the top off the larger of the two and rooted through the contents until he spied what he looking for – a pair of dark red, almost burgundy-colored, pajama bottoms and a matching top.

Holding them out toward Justin, he seemed oblivious to the pained, glistening face of his captive as he said, "Look what I have for you, Angel…..I can't wait to see these on you. Try them on for me."

Justin slowly walked toward the other man and accepted the outstretched garments, taking great pains not to touch the other man's hand. Just the thought of this man touching him again sent needles of disgust running through him. He definitely did not want to have to undress in front of this man, either. "Lane…I need to use the bathroom," he told the other man. "I'll just get changed in there, okay?" he asked softly, hoping that Lane wouldn't think he was trying to trick him. Truth be told, he really DID need to go, and he wanted to check out the bathroom to see if there was anything in there that might possibly help him.

To his relief, Lane nodded after a few seconds. "All right, Angel….But don't keep me waiting too long. There's a small flashlight on the table over there by the door."

Justin nodded slightly in understanding as he carefully turned around and walked over toward the closed door. Turning the brass knob, he grabbed the small penlight lying on top of the small, oval wooden table and opened the door to peer in. He was relieved, as well as a little surprised, that Lane actually let him close the door behind him; he had half-expected the man to insist he keep it open, either to assuage his fears of finding some way to escape, or to merely satisfy his prurient desires to see him naked.

As he closed the door, though, and was bathed in privacy and quiet at last, he slumped down in front of the oak vanity in mental and physical exhaustion and leaned against the hard frame. The day had started out so promising – full of love and hope for the future, and as a day to celebrate the best day of his life – when he and Brian had finally wed. How did a day so full of joy turn into a day of sheer horror?

He held his breath for a moment as he abruptly heard Lane talking; apparently he was speaking to one of his men over the phone he carried with him – _Brian's _phone. In their escape, Justin had almost forgotten that Lane had his husband's phone with him. How he wished he could use it to find out where Brian was, but he knew his lover wouldn't have the phone now; wherever Brian was, he was probably in no position to be reached by phone anyway. If he could somehow get to Brian's phone, though, he could at least hopefully find a way to call for help, for both him AND Brian….

He closed his eyes as he tried hard not to give in to his weariness; he wished that he could just stay in here forever, or at least until someone found him and took him home where he belonged. But his wish was abruptly interrupted when he heard Lane calling to him from the other side of the door. "I'm waiting, Angel. If you're not out here in two minutes, I'm coming in to get you."

Justin sighed in defeat. Raising himself up on his knees, he slowly rose from his kneeling position and stood up to begin removing his leather pants, shirt and shoes Lane had provided for him earlier. He picked up the soft pajama top and began to tiredly tug his arms into it. Next, he pulled his legs into the pants, noticing the outfit seemed to fit him perfectly. How did Lane know precisely what size to get him? Did the man have 24-hour stalkers surrounding his and Brian's house all the time? Was his every move being watched while Lane was in prison? Just the thought of it made his skin crawl.

He took a piss in the toilet and quickly splashed some water on his face, glad at least that the cabin had running water; he had noticed a refrigerator out in the main room of the cabin, but apparently it didn't run on electricity because Lane was using a kerosene lamp; perhaps propane gas instead? He tried hard to concentrate on every detail of the space, not knowing when – or _what_ – information would be useful for later, before he took a deep breath and turned the knob to open the door.

As Lane impatiently waited for Justin to return, he flipped Kinney's phone shut in disgust and placed it back in his pants pocket. One of his men, Lucas, who had been at the house earlier, had just informed him that two of his men had been killed in a shootout with police there; apparently he and Justin had managed to escape just in time to leave undetected and avoid the net that had swiftly been placed all over the perimeter of the residence and nearby areas to find them. Even fifteen more minutes and they would have apparently been caught trying to leave. He smiled smugly, though, knowing that they had been too late – as usual, their ineptness had been their downfall and his reward as he eagerly waited for his Angel to come out from the bathroom.

As if on cue, Lane's eyes lit up at the sight of Justin emerging from the bathroom, clothed in the red pajama set he had selected for him. He had been absolutely right – the dark-red shade of the pajamas set off Justin's skin tone perfectly and made the pale flesh almost glow from the flickering light of the lamp. The man was absolutely breathtaking in his beauty. He shook his head in awe, his admiring gaze sweeping over the blond vision in front of him. Just when he thought Justin couldn't get any more stunning, he surprised him. "You look so incredible," he whispered almost reverently. "Come here." He held out his hands in invitation, hardly able to stay rooted to his spot as he watched Justin slowly approach him.

Justin took in a ragged breath, trying desperately to remain calm. He was almost becoming numb in a way to this man's entreaties; each time the man touched him, he willed his heart and soul to detach itself from the physical part of his body. It was the only way he could tolerate what was happening to him. One mantra kept repeating itself in his head as he felt Lane's hands begin a slow journey from his shoulders, down his arms and then settle themselves on either side of his waist. _For Brian, for Brian, for Brian…. _

Lane pulled Justin to him, wrapping his arms around his back and pushing his body flush against his. He breathed in Justin's intriguing scent as his lips nuzzled the tender flesh of his neck. He had never forgotten the smell of this man, the feel of his skin against his, the softness of his hair, the warmth of the lithe body against his, but now that he was experiencing it again in person, he realized how much more wonderful the actuality was than the remembrance.

Justin shivered at the onslaught, thoroughly disgusted by the violation of his wishes. He had hoped Lane would acquiesce to his desire for sleep; apparently the man couldn't quite follow through on his promises. "Lane….."

Lane pulled back enough to look Justin in the eyes, entranced as always by the blueness in the orbs. "Yes, Angel?" he asked, one hand coming up to caress the other man's cheek.

"Please…..I'm so tired. Can we go to bed now?" He hated to phrase it that way, but he saw no other way to say it. He _really_ DID need some much-needed rest, especially if he had any hopes of thinking clearly. He wasn't sure just how much sleep he would get lying next to this man, but he was hoping he would be able to simply do it out of sheer exhaustion. His body was so weak at the moment that his mind was clouded with confusion. He would need rest to develop a plan to escape somehow.

Lane peered into the face of his captive, trying perhaps to see the truth hidden behind the blue eyes. He realized that Justin was extremely tired; besides, the man wasn't going anywhere – they would have forever now. "All right, Angel," he agreed, whispering. "But I need a goodnight kiss first." He licked his lips, eager for another taste of ambrosia as he wrapped one hand around the other man's neck and pulled him toward his waiting mouth.

Justin closed his eyes, trying hard to block out the man's face as he felt his lips pressing against his. He swallowed down another taste of bile as he felt the man's tongue pushing for entrance; he knew from the last time that he didn't dare refuse this additional intrusion. As he reluctantly opened his mouth to allow Lane's tongue access, his mind immediately leapt to another man's lips, another man's touch, another man's love…..

Lane was in heaven; he longed to feel Justin's arms caressing him, but just being able to deeply taste the essence that was purely his Angel's filled him with excitement and exhilaration as his lips and tongue plundered the tender, warm flesh. He had longed for this moment since the first second he had been forced into that hell hole of a prison; now it seemed that all his dreams were at last coming true. He and Justin would travel the world together – just the two of them, exploring all the places his artistic Angel dreamed of. He couldn't wait for them to begin their journey together – this shack was just a small, temporary blip in his plans until the excitement died down enough regarding his escape and the police moved onto another, more recent case.

It wouldn't be long before he would be free to squire the man he loved to his private plane and whisk him out of the country for good. Then no one would find them – most of all that fucker, Kinney. He should have killed the man when he had the chance, although just the threat that he might do it was enough to keep Justin closely by his side. He just wished he hadn't had to resort to such ridiculous tactics to get Justin to do his bidding. Well, no matter – soon enough, his Angel would realize who he _really_ loved and willingly surrender to him, completely and totally.

As he finally broke off with Justin several seconds later, he noticed with satisfaction how his lover's lips were bruised and red from their kiss. He reached up and lovingly rubbed his thumb across the full lower lip, priding himself on how he had managed to "brand" the other man with his love. He reached his hand to grasp Justin by the upper arm and pull him closer to the bed. "Time to get some rest, Angel," he told the blond. "You've had a long day. Tomorrow everything will look much better, I promise."

Justin bit his lip, trying hard to keep it from quivering. He was NOT going to let this man see him cry – he wasn't going to give him that power and satisfaction. He remained silent as Prescott pushed him gently down to sit on top of the mattress. He watched as the man began to remove his shirt and then his pants, placing them on the floor beside the bed before toeing his shoes off nearby. He was relieved when he realized that Lane was going to keep his briefs on; at least the man was apparently not going to fuck him again tonight. He wasn't naïve enough, though, to think that the first time was going to be the _only_ time.

Lane smiled as he sat down next to Justin and sighed. "I can't wait to hold you in my arms tonight, Angel," he crooned. "Lie down and rest now, my love. I'll be right back." Justin cringed as he watched the other man walkd over to the lamp sitting on top of the table and blow into the top of it, extinguishing the flame temporarily and once more bathing the room in almost total darkness. The only illumination that remained was a small sliver of moonlight filtering in from a window located in the front of the cabin; the partially-closed drapes provided just enough of a break to allow the light to shine through.

Justin sighed, resigned to his fate for the rest of the night. He needed to sleep so badly. He watched Lane walk back over to the bed and sit next to him. As he succumbed to the other man's command, he slowly lowered his body down onto the mattress and lay on his side facing away from him, staring blankly at the wall. His heart quickened in revulsion as he felt Lane's body spoon up against his and the man's arm possessively snaking itself around his waist to pull him back even more toward his chest. "Good night, Angel," he heard the man's whisper; his warm breath on his ear filled him with disgust as he shivered in response, but in his psychopathic state, no doubt Prescott would simply mistake it as desire for him. He took a breath, his mind whirling with the events from today. He wondered how he could possibly sleep with his mind racing so fast and this man touching him, but as Lane snuggled into him even more and he heard the other man's breathing even out, signaling sleep, at last Justin gave in to his own exhaustion and against his better judgement, he felt the weariness finally overtaking him. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep himself.

His sleep, however, was not the restful one he had desperately needed. Instead, in its place were visions of today's events, replaying over and over again in his mind. Blessedly interspersed with them, though, were some happy times with Brian – their honeymoon, their wedding, their day-to-day lives at the Blackbird condo, moments of playfulness and love in their new home. Visits with Gus – painting with him, making faces on his cheeks with brushstrokes, even pillow fights with him and Brian – these images helped him to overcome the horrible ones that threatened to overwhelm him as he restlessly slept.

He finally gasped softly an hour later as he woke up, startled, a horrific vision permeating his dreams – one where Brian was lying dead in a ditch, tied up and shot with tape over his mouth, his hazel eyes staring open lifelessly after being killed by one of Prescott's men. His own eyes opened, startled, as he fought to desperately wake up from the heart-wrenching vision. As his body jerked awake and his heart pounded in fear, he had to think for a few seconds about where he was; when the realization came, he was filled with deep pain and sorrow.

He noticed he was now lying on his back and Lane had moved in his sleep as well; the man was now lying on his back, also, one hand lying on his stomach while the other was positioned above his head on the pillow. The man's steady, regular breathing signaled that he was apparently in a deep sleep at the moment. Justin took several breaths, trying hard to get his rapid pants to slow down from his too-real nightmare. He was relieved at least that Prescott wasn't touching him any longer – every time he felt the man's hands or lips on his, he felt his soul dying just a little more inside as he felt Brian's loving touch being pushed farther away from him in the face of this _other_ man's unwelcome advances. He feared that before too long, his hope would die as well. He _had_ to find a way to get out of here; the longer he stayed under this man's control, the less chance there would be of being found or escaping. Make no mistake, though – no matter _how_ long it took, he would never give up trying to get away from this man, or he would die trying. If Brian was dead, he wouldn't care, anyway – he wouldn't want to live without the piece of his heart that would be missing then.

He lifted his head as he tried to make sure Lane was really asleep; he could hear the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, signaling that he was truly asleep and not just faking. After all, the man had to be as tired as he was, maybe even MORE so. He couldn't watch Justin twenty-four hours a day. Thoughts about Brian's cell phone rushed into his mind; dare he try to locate it while Lane was asleep? He lay there, trying to decide what to do, before he craned his neck one more time to look over at his kidnapper to determine he was still sleeping.

He took a deep breath before gingerly turning on his side to face the wall. He could just barely make out a small sliver of space between the wall and the bed, just enough for a slender body such as his to stand up and sidestep to the end of the bed. Did he dare? He sighed softly, afraid to make any dramatic movements for fear he would wake up Lane. He was torn between wanting desperately to try to get help and his fear of endangering Brian. But he knew he just couldn't keep this up – one more day spent with this madman and he would surely go insane himself.

Making up his mind, he ever so slowly scooted, inch by inch, toward the edge of the bed, stopping every after minute movement to listen for the rhythmic sounds of the other man's breathing. He finally came to the edge of the bed; as his heart pounded, so loudly he was the sure Lane must be able to hear it, he finally twisted his lower body around enough to sit upright on the bed. He held his breath, terrified that his movements were surely being detected while he tried desperately to slow his breathing down to a more normal cadence.

Thankfully, all he could hear besides his soft pants of anxiety was the continual breathing coming from the other side of the bed. He silently thought about Brian, his strength and his love for him providing him with the courage to move forward, as he rose from the bed in an excruciatingly slow pace, each effort causing his breath to hitch for fear the movement or a sound would be heard or felt by the other man.

He eventually stood at last after several minutes , unfettered between the wall and the mattress, continuing to stand there, too afraid to move. He risked turning his head, half-expecting to see Lane sitting up on the bed, staring at him in a threatening manner and about to yank him back down on the bed, but miraculously, the man remained as he had been, lying there on his back with his hands in the same position. Thank goodness the man was apparently a sound sleeper. _Please…..please don't let him notice I'm gone_, he pleaded silently as he slowly, so slowly, began to scoot sideways between the bed, placing his hands against the coldness of the wall to make sure his body didn't somehow bump up against the side of the bed frame and awaken his sleeping captor.

He stopped to collect his thoughts as he finally stood free at the end of the bed. Thankfully so far, there had been no typical sounds that emerged from the floor such as a creaking or squeaking noise, to alert Lane to the fact that his companion was out of the bed and about to risk something extremely dangerous.

Justin bit his lip and held his breath as he crept closer, foot by foot, toward the other side of the bed, intent on reaching the huddled pile of clothes that Lane had strewn haphazardly on the floor. He didn't dare hold onto the bed for support lest the other man feel it. If Justin thought getting out of bed was difficult, this would no doubt prove to be the most dangerous of all – trying to reach down and retrieve Brian's cell from the other man's pants pocket while the man was sleeping a few feet away.

Slowly, incrementally, he moved ever closer to his target, the adrenalin flowing through his veins as his heart continued to pound with a mixture of fear and excitement. He didn't dare allow hope to enter in the equation – he was too nervous to consider that possibility at the moment. He reached the corner of the bed and proceeded bit by bit toward the pile of clothing cast in shadows on the floor nearby.

Suddenly an idea sprang into his head as he squatted down on his knees and then crouched down flat on the floor, below the mattress frame and hopefully out of sight of the other man. Slowly pushing himself forward with his hands like a newly-recruited military cadet, he kept his eyes squarely on the clothing a few feet away. _Please…please_, he kept repeating to himself as he finally stretched his hand out in a desperate move to reach Prescott's pants. _Just a few more inches….._

He bit his lip to force the groan from coming out as he strained to reach the linen fabric. He stretched as far as he could go, finally making contact with the much-needed garment. Sighing silently in relief, he froze as he heard the mattress creaking, signaling that Lane was moving. _Oh, God…Please, no…._

He quickly snatched the man's pants, digging frantically for the phone as he held them to his own body like a lifeline. His heart soared as he felt the hardness of the phone and found the pocket, reaching in to curl his hand protectively around the phone – _Brian's_ phone.

"Justin?"

His eyes filled with horror and his heart dropped as he heard Lane's voice. _No…Please God, No….._

"Justin!" The voice was stronger now, tinged with just a hint of concern as Lane slowly awakened. "Where ARE you? Answer me!" Justin knew that any second Lane would figure out where he was and what he was doing. He had only a second to act…

Just before Prescott could rise from the bed, Justin flipped the phone open, finding that it was turned on and in vibrate mode. As he stared at the screen, his heart soared and he felt a tremendous weight that had been threatening to crush him suddenly lifting from his body and his spirit as he saw the brief text message that had been transmitted approximately 30 minutes ago: _4-5-9._


	10. The Ever Tightening Dragnet

Justin's heart, which had just risen to euphoric heights at the text message Brian had sent him, began to beat faster in fear instead as he heard Lane calling to him; he knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the other man found him. In the darkness, the blue screen of the phone was like a lighthouse beacon broadcasting his exact whereabouts.

Wanting desperately to text a reply back to Brian, he knew if he kept the phone open, Lane would instantly know what he was doing; with extreme reluctance, then, he quickly deleted the short text message and flipped the phone shut as quietly and as quickly as he could just before he heard a creaking sound coming from the mattress immediately above him.

"Justin! Where ARE you? What are you _doing_?" Lane demanded, his voice becoming stronger now as he instantly became awake and called out to him in alarm. Justin's heart was pounding as he quickly considered what to do. It would be only a matter of seconds now…

With the cell phone shut, the room was once again bathed in relative obscurity, and he used this fact to his advantage. Springing up from his prone position, phone grasped securely in his hand, he held his breath and bit his lip as he quickly backed away from the side of the bed, his mind whirling as he contemplated what to do.

Lane quickly twisted his body sideways as he sat up. In the slight moonlight peeking through the heavy curtain of the cabin's window, he could just make out Justin's slight, shadowy form moving away from him. "Justin – I asked you a fucking question! What are you doing out of bed? ANSWER me‼" he demanded as he began to stand up.

_Oh, God_…Justin scanned the room frantically, trying desperately to find a sanctuary to escape to, out of reach of this vile man who had lied to him and held him prisoner for the past several hours. The front door was locked, there were bars on the windows…..there was no place to run. Only one possibility…he immediately began a dash toward the bathroom in hopes of being able to close the door and either lock it or barricade himself inside somehow. He couldn't remember if the door even had a lock on it, but it was his only chance.

But unfortunately for him, Lane's greater strength and height was no match for his slender, slighter frame; as he made a run for the bathroom, Lane immediately realized where he was going and intercepted him just before he made it to the door.

Justin winced as he felt the other man's hand grasping his wrist as if it were caught in a vise. "Let me go, you fucking bastard‼" Justin snarled at him, trying to twist his body fiercely in an attempt to escape. He stilled, however, as he felt the sharp sting of Lane's other hand as it violently slapped him across the cheek.

Lane pulled Justin flush with his own body as he wrapped his free hand around the other man's waist and gripped him tightly. The cell phone, still grasped in Justin's hand like a life preserver, was roughly snatched away as Lane realized with a sense of fury what had prompted the blond to get out of bed. "What did you DO?" he growled at Justin. He twisted his own wrist sideways to enable him to flip the phone open and display the LCD screen, quickly scanning the display to see if there had been any recent activity. Apparently satisfied that Justin hadn't succeeded in sending any sort of message out, he stared back into the face of the man he had hoped was beginning to realize who his soul mate truly was – him – and his eyes darkened in rage and jealousy over the knowledge that his lover's heart still apparently belonged to someone else.

"That was extremely foolish, Justin," he told the blond. "I warned you what the consequences would be if you didn't follow my instructions."

Justin could feel Lane's hot breath on his face as the other man threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs. But he didn't care – Brian was _alive_. He was _alive… _"You're LYING, Lane," he told the other man, his voice emerging as more of a raspy whisper as he struggled to breathe. "I know Brian is okay now and that YOU don't have him!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Justin? All I need to do is find a way is contact one of my men and your precious hubby is _dead_‼"

For a few seconds, Justin's heart dropped at the thought that perhaps Lane had someone _watching_ Brian instead of holding him captive. Was it possible that Brian actually was still in danger? He chose to believe, though, that Brian was indeed safe and away from this man's influence; he HAD to believe it. "You lied to me, Lane," he countered. "You told me you were holding Brian somewhere."

"How do you know I'm _not_?" Lane taunted him; he wrapped both arms now around Justin's upper back, holding him tightly, the phone still clasped in his hand. "How could you know, Justin?" he commanded, shaking him. "ANSWER me, damn it!"

Justin was silent for a few seconds; how much should he admit to this man? If he confessed he had received a text message from Brian, would that make the man angry enough to have someone harm him? Was he really somehow able to carry out his threats regarding his husband? Brian had succeeded in sending him their "secret" message – 4-5-9. That normally meant he was all right, that he was safe. Surely under the circumstances Brian would be taking the necessary precautions to ensure his safety, wouldn't he? _Brian…..help me make the right decision._ He took a deep breath; he was tired of playing along with this man. He had to trust Brian that he could take care of himself and knew how to protect himself.

"Brian sent me a message, to tell me he's okay. I know you're not holding him _anywhere_. You lied to me; you don't have any hold over him – or me – anymore. You're a fucking liar!"

Lane swore under his breath, aware that his ruse had been uncovered. The anger toward this other man who continued to have an inexplicable hold on Justin welled up inside of him. Holding Justin's upper arm firmly with one hand, he impetuously flung the instrument of revelation against the far wall, smashing it into a myriad of pieces as it clattered, completely shattered against the wooden floor.

Justin jumped at the harsh sound and his eyes welled with emotional pain and frustration; his only hope of contacting Brian – or anyone else – had just been irrevocably crushed.

At the sound of the phone's destruction, Lane breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't matter if Kinney had managed to send his Angel a message; there was no way now he could send any others, or Justin could reply. Besides, he still had what he wanted and he wasn't about to give it up for anyone or anything.

Justin cried out, startled, as Lane abruptly twirled him around and pushed his body back against his; he wrapped his arms around Justin's waist from behind, effectively keeping him from moving so much as a millimeter. "Don't you _EVER _talk to me that way again," Lane hissed in his ear. "I deserve respect from you."

Despite his fear that any semblance of sanity was gone from the other man, Justin couldn't help snorting at the ludicrous statement. "_Respect? _I feel nothing but pity and revulsion for you, Lane, NOT _respect_‼ If you really cared about me, you'd let me go. I'll never have any other feelings for you."

"We'll just see about that," Lane responded, his voice so quiet now that it made Justin more nervous than if he had shouted at him again; he began to firmly walk Justin toward the bed, his arms continuing to hold the other man in a virtual steel band of sinew. As they neared the bed, he abruptly released Justin enough to throw him down upon the mattress.

As Justin lay there, wondering what Lane was planning next, he heard a soft click and saw the beam of a flashlight suddenly illuminate the room softly. He watched as Lane placed the flashlight down on the adjacent nightstand and slid open the top drawer. The cabin was far from bright with the flashlight turned on, but there was enough light now for Justin's eyes to adjust to the sight of Lane brandishing a pistol in his hand. "Lane…you don't want to do this," he pleaded, not quite sure what the man had in mind, but whatever it was, he knew it wouldn't be good. He realized the terror he had been enduring up until that moment had just escalated to a new level….

He watched as Lane smiled down at him. "Do what, Angel? I _told_ you I was serious before; I thought you believed me. Of course, I _also _thought you had finally realized that you belonged with ME, not that asshole Kinney." He slowly knelt down on top of the mattress, a few feet away from Justin, who was staring back at him in a mixture of stunned disbelief and dread. "You see, Angel, it doesn't matter if I have Brian under my control or not. He still doesn't know where you are, and even if he DID, he wouldn't get anywhere near you before I'd blow his fucking head off." Lane pretended to aim the gun at a nearby target on the other side of the room as he said, "Bam!" He chuckled softly at the image of the other man lying on the ground, headless, just like some macabre version of Icabod Crane.

Justin shook his head, unable to believe he was really living through this surreal scene. He couldn't avert his eyes from the stranger smiling down at him, even though this man was totally unfamiliar to him now. Gone was any semblance of the man he had met a few years ago. He had no idea how you connected with someone who had lost their mind, and it terrified him. He had no doubt that Lane meant exactly what he was saying – he held no misconceptions that Lane wouldn't try and kill Brian at the first opportunity. But Justin also knew that Brian wouldn't rest until he had found him. He was so relieved that Brian was all right – at least for the time being. But what would happen when Brian and Lane met again? How could he protect the man he loved from a maniac holding a 22 caliber pistol in his hand?

He took a deep breath as he peered up at Prescott; the man was now cradling the gun in his hand as if it were a baby. "Lane, how long do you think you can keep this up? You know the police have to be looking for us – do you really think you'll be able to just up and leave with me?"

"I'm in no hurry," Lane told him. "I had this place well-stocked, Angel. We can stay here for weeks before we need to move again." Justin watched with dread as Lane laid the gun down on the nightstand and reached for a condom on the table before he leaned toward him on the bed; the blond began to scoot backward in an attempt to place as much space between him and the other man. "Now don't be that way, Angel. You and I are just getting reacquainted, remember? Lovemaking is always so much more _pleasurable_ when both parties actively participate, don't you think?"

Shadows danced off the nearby wall as Lane began to remove his clothing, continuing to stare at Justin as if they were two lovers about to engage in a romantic tryst; Justin looked at the other man as if he had two heads. Despite his making his feelings crystal clear regarding how he felt about him, at the moment Lane didn't seem to understand or even be bothered about it. The thought of being with this man physically again made his skin crawl, though.

He knew he was risking violence on his captor's part, but he couldn't help it. "Lane," he implored. "Please – why can't you realize that I…..don't…..LOVE…you? I'm married to Brian, I love HIM. Why would you want to be with someone who doesn't feel the same way that you do? You can still leave here and start over again someplace else. Please…..Just leave me here and go." Justin's eyes searched the other man's face, trying desperately to find some small piece of the old Lane Prescott still hidden there. Justin's heart dropped as he watched Prescott start crawling toward him on his knees on the bed; obviously the man had different ideas about what he wanted – and WHO he wanted.

Justin knew he was no match physically for the man who continued to advance upon him. And even though over the years, he had willingly participated in fucking tricks with Brian at the loft or in the backroom of Babylon, this was different. This wasn't being done with his consent; this was a clear and overt violation of his wishes. For the first time as he acknowledged what this man's assault truly was, he realized how a rape victim felt, because as Lane tore the condom wrapper and quickly placed the latex on his leaking cock, Justin had never felt so dirty and alone in his life.

He closed his eyes tightly as he felt Lane's calloused hands grasping his waistband and slowly pulling his pajama bottoms and briefs down his thighs; Prescott didn't bother pushing them down any further before Justin felt him cradling his balls in his hand for several seconds; he felt Lane's hands releasing him just as his mouth unexpectedly enveloped Justin's cock in a tight, vise of warmth. Just before he forced his mind to travel outside his body to endure what he knew was about to happen, he felt the thankful but unexpected, cold sensation of lube that he hadn't even known the man had in his hand as Lane's fingers began probing inside him.

"So beautiful," Lane cooed softly as his other hand began to caress Justin's chest and stomach and then travel down his legs to his thighs. Justin felt him pulling his pajama bottoms and briefs down the rest of the way and pulling them free of his legs just before Lane grasped his ankles and placed them on top of his shoulders. "You're mine now," Lane growled. "You'll _always_ be mine..."

Justin's thoughts just before Lane pushed into him were those of a dark-haired brunet with hazel eyes that always sought his out with warmth and affection. _I'm here, Sunshine_, he thought he heard Brian say as he kept his eyes closed and his hands rigidly at his side. _I'm here…._

_

* * *

_

Same Time – Debbie's House

Shoulders hunched over, Brian sat on one of Debbie's worn, flowered, overstuffed living room chairs, staring into Carl's cell phone – the phone he had just used to send a text message to Justin with. He had no way of knowing if Justin had even seen the text, but he knew he had to try. When he had first thought of the idea of calling his own cell phone, he hadn't been sure of the wisdom of it. If Prescott intercepted the call and figured out it was Brian phoning, he had no doubt that he would somehow take it out on his partner.

On the other hand, he desperately needed to get some sort of message through to Justin, to let him know how much he loved him and needed him. The inspired idea of using their secret text message – 4-5-9 – had suddenly popped in his head and he finally managed to convince Carl to let him try it. He hoped that if Prescott DID see the message, he would hopefully just assume it was some sort of misdirected text and ignore it. More importantly, he hoped the man wouldn't realize the importance of it and take out his anger on Justin.

He cradled the phone in his hand, staring unfocused at the display as he felt the weight of his loss on his shoulders. He was so tired – so bone-tired from what had happened in the past 24-hours – but he couldn't give up; he _wouldn't_ give up on his partner. His hands were shaking slightly from the weariness permeating throughout his body and he could feel his eyes fluttering as they fought to stay open. _Justin…..God, where ARE you?_ He couldn't dwell on what his husband must be going through – he couldn't bear to even think about it, or he knew his world would simply come crashing down on him. He ran one hand idly through his tousled hair and sighed painfully. "How much longer, Carl?" he finally called out to the man sitting in the couch across from him. "This is fucking killing me," he admitted to him.

Jennifer walked in from the kitchen carrying two large mugs of black coffee. "Here, Brian," she said, holding out one of the containers to him. "Take this."

Brian tentatively considered refusing the beverage, but in the end decided to take it; he figured he would need every bit of his arsenal to stay awake to help Justin. He reached out his hand slowly to take the mug and bring it up to his lips for a sip. It tasted bitter to him without any sugar in it, but he didn't care; the distastefulness only reminded him of how his heart felt at the moment – out of sync and empty.

Jennifer's eyes welled with tears at the sight of her broken son-in-law; Brian had always been the strong one during her son's ordeal with Prescott, both during the relentless pursuit of his husband and the trial afterward. Brian's stoic, unflinching attitude, however, seemed to have disappeared since Justin had been kidnapped; in its place was a man who was clearly heartbroken and terrified out of his mind for his partner. She was scared to death, too, but if possible, Brian's pain was even _more_ pronounced. Until her son, Brian had never truly opened up to anyone, let alone gave his heart to another man; now with Justin in danger, it was as if he was a shell of himself. The normal brashness and confidence was replaced with disconsolation and misery. "Brian," she said, sitting down on the arm of the chair next to him and placing her hand on his shoulder, "why don't you go lie down for a few minutes? I'm sure Carl will let you now as soon as we hear something."

"Jennifer, if you think I can rest at a…"

"Brian," she interrupted him sternly. "You were drugged by who knows what and just got out of the hospital! You won't do Justin any good at all if you're dead on your feet, and Carl's already said it will take a little time to get the phone tracked. I absolutely hate the thought of that man having Justin one more second longer than necessary, but at the same he wouldn't want you to collapse from exhaustion. Please…for my sake as well as his…..please go lie down at least for a little while. I _promise _you if there's any news at all I'll personally come up and tell you – you KNOW that."

Brian felt Jennifer's hand come up and caress the back of his neck. As she ruffled his hair tenderly, for a moment he could almost imagine it was Justin's hand there. Oh, how he longed to feel his touch again. He WOULD feel his touch again – he HAD to…..But Jennifer was right – he could barely keep his eyes open right now, and if he didn't get some sleep, when the time DID come, he wouldn't be any use to Justin at all. And he had vowed to himself – when they found Justin, and they WOULD find him – he would be there to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right. Truthfully, he needed to look into his husband's familiar blue eyes so he could reassure HIM that he would be all right, too…..

"Brian, honey, Jennifer's right," Debbie murmured softly from her position next to Carl on the couch. "If Justin was here, he'd be the first one insisting you go upstairs and get some rest. Please, honey – do what she says." Her eyes were full of concern over Brian's appearance – she had never seem him so devastated; he had lost his heart a long time ago to Justin and now the rest of him was lost now, too, until they could find Sunshine and his world would start spinning right again.

Brian sighed as he glanced over at Debbie's determined, worried face. He knew both women were right. "Okay," he finally answered, his raspy voice barely above a whisper. "But only for a little while," he added as he slowly and stiffly rose from his chair.

"I'll be right up as soon as we know anything, Brian," his mother-in-law told him, reaching over to take his hand and squeeze it briefly before releasing it. As their eyes locked together in a bond of understanding, she whispered fervently, "I promise."

Brian wobbled briefly as he stood there a few seconds longer until he could get his "land" bearings, and then shuffled over to the steps. "I'll be in Michael's old room as soon as you hear anything," he told them, looking over at Jennifer for confirmation. She nodded silently once before he turned to slowly drag his body up the steps. As he finally managed to reach the upstairs landing and disappeared, Jennifer turned to stare, concerned, at her friends. "I'm really worried about him. I've never seen him this broken up before. He should never have been discharged from the hospital."

"I couldn't agree more," Debbie flatly agreed. "But do you really think you could have stopped him? We all know the answer to that question." She sighed. "I AM glad you somehow persuaded him to at least go lie down for a while – that man's worried sick about Sunshine."

Jennifer closed her eyes briefly before she opened them up and peered into her friend's face. "So am I, Debbie," she said. "So am I." She turned to stare anxiously at Carl, who was just hanging up from a landline conversation with Greg Matthews, the county prosecutor. "Carl – any word?"

Carl could feel the weight of Jennifer's and Debbie's eyes on him as he regretfully shook his head. "Nothing yet – Greg's pushing as fucking hard as he can; he realizes only too well what a psychopath this Prescott can be." At Jennifer's look of anguish, he quickly added, "I'm sorry, Jennifer – I'm just trying to be realistic. I mean, don't panic here; Justin's strong – look at what he's endured over the years. And Prescott has this abnormal fascination for him. He's not going to do anything to hurt him – you need to remember that."

Neither Jennifer nor Debbie knew, though, that Prescott had _already _hurt Justin in one way – the man had undoubtedly assaulted him to quench his perverted pleasure. Per his unspoken agreement with Brian, however, Carl had promised not to divulge that extremely painful detail to either woman. It wouldn't change anything at the moment, and when the time came that Justin might need the moral support to work through whatever emotional scars that fucker had left on him, he knew both of these women, along with Brian, would be there to help him however he needed it.

Debbie's eyes filled with tears – tears over the pain both of her sons were currently enduring. She looked over at Jennifer, whose face was a mirror of her. She realized that Brian wasn't the only one in danger of collapsing if her friend's worn, haggard face was any indication. "Jen – Honey, go upstairs and lie down in mine and Carl's room. You need some rest, too."

Jennifer shook her head. "I can't, Debbie. Even if I _wanted_ to, every time I close my eyes I can't stop thinking about Justin; where he is and what's happening to him." She put her head in his hands as she propped herself up on her elbows and bowed her head. "If Brian wasn't so exhausted, I think he'd be going through the same thing right now. His being totally worn out and feeling the residual effects of the drug he was slipped are the only things helping him to sleep right now, I'm sure of it. But I'm glad – he needs the sleep so badly. The poor man – he's so torn up over this whole thing – we _both_ are."

Debbie peered sympathetically at her friend. "I know, Honey, I know. We just have to hope and pray that he's going to be okay – no, he HAS to be. That boy has been through enough in his life; that man is going to be found soon and put away for the rest of his fucking life!"

The three friends jumped a little at the sound of Carl's cell phone ringing; he hurried to snatch it up from a nearby side table before even the first ring had been completed. Flipping it open immediately, he glanced at the recognizable number on the caller ID before answering. "Yeah, Greg, what've you got?"

The two women locked gazes on the detective as they watched him listening intently to the prosecutor's voice; neither could tell from Carl's expression initially if Greg's news was good or not. But after a few seconds, they heard Carl say, "That's great! Let me write it down." He reached over to grab a small spiral pocket notebook and a pencil. "Go," he said, hurriedly scribbling down some information. "Yeah, okay…..I have a good idea where that is. How long ago?" There was a few seconds' pause before he continued. "Yeah – we'll meet you there as soon as possible. And Greg…..thanks. I owe you one."

Jennifer and Debbie's eyes widened as they saw Carl jump up from the couch. "What is it, Sweetheart?" Debbie asked, grasping his sleeve tightly. "Have they found them?"

"Well, they can't exactly pinpoint where they are, but Greg got the judge to sign off on the order to reveal the tower signal information. At least now we know where the pings from Brian's cell phone have been coming from. The last signal received was about an hour ago."

Jennifer stood up quickly, her voice rising as her heart began to quicken its pace. "An hour ago! That's good then, isn't it? How closely can the signal pinpoint where they are?"

"Pretty close, actually – to within 200 meters of where the last phone call was made. Greg had to wake up the CEO of the phone company – he was pretty pissed about it – but he still gave him the information." Carl quickly walked over to the kitchen table nearby where his coat was hanging over the back of one of the chairs and hurriedly pulled one arm through the sleeve.

"Let's go, then," Jennifer said as she stood up, her tiredness quickly diminishing at the hopeful news Carl had just presented to her.

Carl dreaded what he was about to say, but he had to say it nonetheless. "Jennifer – I know better than to expect _Brian_ to stay here, but I have to insist that you and Debbie not come with us." As Jennifer moved to protest, he held his hand up to stop her. "I won't argue with either one of you over this – I'm sorry. I know how much you two want to find Justin, but I want to just as badly. And I can't concentrate on what I need to do if I have to worry about the two of you." As he finished putting on his jacket, he added, "I won't kid either one of you – this is an _extremely_ dangerous man we're dealing with here. I can't stress enough to either one of you how important it is to handle this just right. One wrong move and we could be seriously endangering Justin's life. And I know neither one of you want to take that chance. So, please – do what I say here, okay?"

He impatiently waited for them to understand; they had to get moving before Prescott was on the move once more. The fact that he hadn't used Brian's cell in the past hour led him to hope that perhaps the man had barricaded himself and Justin inside some sort of shelter for the night. The sooner they could jump on this lead, the more hope there was that they could find him before he moved away any further.

Jennifer's heart was continuing to pound, a result of both optimism as well as continuing fear for her son's safety. She wanted to badly to go with Carl, to be there when they found Justin, to hold him and comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay. But Justin was married now; married to a man he trusted and loved deeply. For her own son's sake, as well as Brian's, then, she needed to do what Carl asked and let Brian provide Justin with whatever he would need when they found him – and they WOULD find him, she kept repeating to herself. They HAD to. "Okay, Carl," she quietly agreed as she looked over at Debbie. Debbie slowly nodded reluctantly, understanding, also, what was at stake.

Carl nodded in relief. "Good, I'm glad you understand. You want to go up and tell Brian?"

"No need," they heard Brian saying as he rushed as quickly down the steps as he could. "I heard your cell ring – what did you find out?"

"Get your coat – that was Greg on the phone; he got the court order signed and we know where the last signal came from. Let's go."

Brian rushed over to grab his leather jacket from where he had slung it over the recliner. "Where was it?" he asked breathlessly as the two men hurried to the door.

"North of Pittsburgh," Carl answered as he moved to turn the doorknob. "Near the Alleghany Forest."

"Shit," Brian muttered. "You know how fucking isolated that area is? There _thousands_ of miles of forest up there! How close can the signal get to them?"

"Pretty damn close – to within 200 meters. Of course, that's where he was the LAST time you called your phone an hour ago; that doesn't mean they're still IN that location, remember; but at least it's a start."

As Carl opened the door, Jennifer rushed up to quickly hug her son-in-law. "Bring him back to us, Brian," she whispered tearfully. Brian wrapped his arms around the petite woman briefly to give her a short squeeze before releasing her. He placed his hand on her cheek, the two rings – his and Justin's – gleaming off the overhead kitchen light as he said, "I will, Jennifer. I will."

The two exchanged a silent hope that their most desired wish would come true before Brian smiled at her slightly and quickly turned to go, rushing out the door after Carl. As the door closed behind them, enveloping both women in silence, Jennifer felt Debbie's hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at her friend for a few seconds before they both fell into each other's arms, seeking mutual solace over worry for the same man - their son.


	11. Closing in On the Target

**_A/N: I was going to post the entire part I had written for this chapter at once, but I'm up to over 10,000 words and still not done! So in order to at least get it updated, here is the first part of it. I promise to give you the remainder of what I've written once I've updated it entirely, either later today or tomorrow at the latest. I see the boys being reunited either in the next part or in a worst-case scenario, Chapter 13. Here goes - please keep the reviews coming - that reminds me to pause for a second and thank all of you who have either read, reviewed, and/or placed alerts for this story. I am so grateful for your encouragement - I crave feedback like Brian Kinney needs sex - keep it coming - LOL! _**

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_Please heed previous warnings - no non-con in this chapter but there is violence:_

* * *

"How long to get there, Carl?" Brian asked curtly as he opened the SUV's passenger door and quickly got in; he could feel the combination of anxiety and adrenalin coursing through his body at the thought of finding Justin; just the idea of the man he loved being held by that megalomaniac, however, filled him with a much more intense resolve.

"About two and a half hours from what the GPS says," the detective answered him. "Greg, the PHP and a SWAT team will be joining up with us at the entrance to the park." As he backed out of the driveway and turned the car to proceed down the dark street toward the expressway, he glanced over at his passenger; Brian's lips were drawn in a tight line, his body stiff and rigid as he nodded back in acknowledgement. Carl didn't have to be a psychic to realize the younger man's thoughts at the moment. Besides, Brian had been quite clear earlier about his intentions toward Prescott when they found him.

"Brian…..About what you told me earlier….."

Brian peered over at the older man; he didn't have to ask Carl what he was referring to. "Yeah."

"Brian, I agreed to let you come with me because, frankly, I knew nothing would stop you from going. But I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Debbie and Jennifer. I don't think I need to remind you what a sick and dangerous bastard this man is. He's already killed three people and I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to kill again if he's provoked or feels trapped."

"Let me finish," Carl insisted as he observed Brian's mouth opening, no doubt in an attempt to protest what he was about to say. Under the occasional illumination of a street lamp, Carl could make out Brian glaring at him, but he didn't attempt to say anything – at least not yet, anyway. "I know you want nothing more than to rip this man from limb to limb, and frankly, I can't blame you. But Son, I have to warn you – if you try to interfere in any way with the police operation up there, I will have you removed from the scene until it's secure."

"Fuck, Carl!" Brian exploded, his eyes flashing with fury and incredulity. "Do you really think I would jeopardize Justin's _life_?"

"Of course not, Brian," Carl quickly assured him; he had seen the way Brian had stood by Justin during his ordeal with Prescott before and during the trial, and looking at the anguish on his face right now, there could be doubt as to how deeply his feelings ran for the blond artist. But having been a police detective for over 30 years now, he _also_ knew how well-intentioned loved ones could wind up causing a hostage to get accidentally hurt or even killed by their rash actions. And when it came to Justin Taylor, Brian's heart would most definitely act before his head did.

"I know you would never do anything to hurt Justin, at least not intentionally. But things happen in the heat of the moment, so I'm not backing down on this – if I see you are in the way of what we need to do to bring Justin home safely, you will be confined somewhere until the situation is resolved, even if it's a police cruiser. His life is most definitely at stake here, and his safety is my utmost concern. Do we understand each other?" Carl eyed him intently, leaving no doubt that he would do precisely what he was threatening to do if he needed to.

Brian fumed; this was his husband they were talking about – the man he had never envisioned spending the rest of his life with at first, but now he was the man he couldn't imagine living without. He let out a heavy sigh; he knew Carl was right, but that didn't make the medicine any easier to swallow. He needed to hold Justin in his arms, to touch him, to tell him everything would be okay, to tell _himself _that everything would be okay, and to make his own heart start beating once more. Because without him, his world would never be the same again. How could he expect him to just stand there and wait on the sidelines? But he also knew if he didn't cooperate, when Justin was released – and he _would_ be released because there could be no other alternative – he had to be there for him.

"Okay," he growled. "Okay, yes, I _understand_," he hissed out distastefully through his teeth. "But if I see him, and I get the chance, I don't fucking _care_ what happens to me. If I get a chance to kill that bastard, Carl, I WILL. I _will_….." His hands clenched into tight fists, just itching to grasp the man by his neck and squeeze the living shit out of him until he slumped, bones crushed and lifeless, to the ground in a mangled, bloody heap.

"NO, Brian! That's exactly what I _mean!_ Don't you understand? Let's say somehow you manage to get that chance – let's say you actually DO get a chance to kill the guy. God knows the world would be better off without him, but would Justin be better off without YOU? Just who would be hurt the worst by what you did – Prescott or that young man who has been subjected to who knows what at his hands?" He winced as he noticed Brian visibly cringing; his voice softened as he continued. "I'm sorry, Son, I probably shouldn't have said that, but I never thought you were the type to want things sugarcoated. Justin is going to need you when this is all over with; killing Prescott may feel like a great thing to do right now, but if you somehow succeed, he's won all over again. Because maybe he wouldn't have Justin then, but neither would you. Do you really want to give him that power over you?"

Brian leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Carl was right; damn him. He would like nothing better than to wipe Prescott off the face of the earth. And just the thought that somehow the man would wind up not being killed but back in jail filled him with despair; despair for Justin who once more would have to testify against him in court. He had watched how much torment that had caused Justin the first time; this would be even worse. But Justin was strong, and he would be there to by his side the entire time. Whatever they needed to do, they would do it together; they had no choice. That was what partners did; Justin would do – and had done – the same for him. "No," Brian finally whispered softly in resignation. "I don't." He sighed. "I'll play it your way, I promise." He opened his eyes and turned his head to meet the detective's sympathetic gaze.

Carl nodded as he studied the younger man to gauge his sincerity. "Good enough. I promise I'll do whatever it takes to bring him safely home to you, Brian. You have my word." He couldn't help smiling a little, despite the seriousness of their situation, as he added, "Besides, I have Debbie to come home to; she loves that boy – she loves the _both_ of you. I can't afford to let anything happen to him, for my OWN sake." He sobered somewhat to add, "Justin is quite a courageous young man. He'll get through this – you _both_ will, I know it."

Brian's eyes misted over. "Yeah," he whispered in a choked voice, "we will." As he closed his eyes, lulled by the regular, continuous hum of the motor, his last thoughts before he succumbed to a brief, exhausted sleep were concentrated on the man whose face occupied his every waking thought and dream. _Justin…..Hang on just a little longer. Please – I love you….. _

_

* * *

_

Two Hours Later – Alleghany National Forest Outskirts

Justin's eyes slowly opened to the dawn of a new day as the first tendrils of light seeped in through the partially-closed curtains. He lay on his back, nude, trying at first to understand why his surroundings seemed so unfamiliar to him. His body ached, seemingly from head to toe, but not in the spine-tingling way that it usually felt the day after he and Brian had actively and willingly participated in several rounds of fucking and lovemaking the night before after being apart for a while due to one of them being out of town for business.

No, the reason why came flooding into his brain as he suddenly realized to his horror where he was – and who he was with. Worse of all, his face clouded over in pain as he understood why his body felt so sore. He dared a glance over to his side to see Prescott also lying on his back, one hand on his stomach and the other hand resting to his side. His fingers were clenched around the gun he had brandished last night after Justin had sought to send Brian a message through his cell phone, only to be stymied violently as Prescott ripped the phone from his hand and flung it across the room. After fucking him, Prescott had succumbed to his own need for sleep and had finally fallen into a light slumber, his hand still clutched around the pistol. After Justin's success at reaching Brian's phone, the man was apparently not taking any chances that Justin would find some other way to get the upper hand. No, he was now effectively prevented from contacting anyone on the outside and also barred from escape. The dead-bolted door and barred windows were testimony to that fact.

He closed his eyes as the humiliation and pain washed over him; how would he ever escape from this man now? Prescott had already indicated there were enough supplies stocked here to last them for several weeks, and from what he could see in the darkness last night, Prescott had made sure their hideout was in an extremely isolated. area. What hope did he have that someone would happen to spot them and notice anything amiss? After all, he was sure to the outside world, their vehicle merely looked like one parked at a cabin rental for a vacation. The only hope Justin had was that the police would broadcast which vehicle they fled in and someone, somehow, would recognize the vehicle as the one being sought. The odds, though, of anyone stumbling upon them and being aware of the vehicle's significance were slim to none.

Sighing softly so as not to awaken his captor, Justin slowly twisted to a sitting up position and sat there for a few seconds trying to catch his breath; his heart was full of hopelessness. The only shining beacon of encouragement in this whole mess was that he now knew that Brian was safe, at least he was away from Prescott's clutches. He still worried that one of Prescott's men could be following him and could try and hurt him, but he had to trust that Brian could take care of himself and would take precautions. Right now, it was the only thing that offered him any glimmer of hope at all.

He slowly began to stand up, needing badly to use the bathroom. He only hoped that Prescott would remain asleep, at least long enough to grant him enough privacy to go into the bathroom alone. He had found this room, which had the only door that could be closed on the inside, was the only space that he could find any solitude in and be away from the constant, crushing weight of his kidnapper, if only for a few minutes.

Walking as softly as he could around the bed, he was relieved that Prescott remained asleep as he stooped down to pick up his pajama bottoms by the end of the bed and put them on as his body groaned in protest. He flushed with shame at the thought of what the other man had done to him last night after discovering him with Brian's cell phone. The sex had been quick and rough, hardly the touch or feel of a considerate, patient lover like Brian was. At least the man had used a condom again; he wondered, though, how long Prescott would agree to keep that barrier between them. Something told Justin that before long, Prescott would demand that that precaution be stopped as well; under the man's crazy beliefs, Justin wouldn't ever have the opportunity again to fuck anyone else, so he could see how the other man wouldn't feel a need to continue the practice before too long, despite Justin's ruse about wanting to be protected from any disease the other man might haved picked up while in prison. He only hoped that somehow, someway, it wouldn't come to that.

He and Brian had worked hard to enjoy the day when they could express their love for each other with no barriers between them; he could still remember the first time, on their honeymoon, and how indescribable it had been. Since then, their times with each other had only gotten even more intense. He was incapable of putting into words what it felt like to join with Brian as one body and one soul, with nothing between the physical expression of their love except skin. The thought of not sharing that mind-blowing experience again dropped him into the depths of misery and shame, even though on an intellectual level he knew it wasn't his fault. That didn't stop the guilt, though, from permeating every pore of his ravaged body as he painfully plodded toward the bathroom.

As he picked up a nearby flashlight and closed the door behind him, unable to lock it, he prayed the other man would allow him a few short minutes of peace as he stood at the toilet to relieve himself. He was thankful at that moment that the bathroom didn't contain a mirror and that it was dim inside; something told him that if he could have seen his reflection, he wouldn't have liked what he saw.

He stiffly stripped off his clothes and walked, nude, over to the combination shower/bath tub and turned the knob, his heart beginning to pound as he heard a screeching, rusty sort of sound coming from the pipes which had probably not been used in some time. Thankfully, after a few minutes, the water felt hot enough to his touch that he could step into the enclosure and stand under the streaming water for a shower.

He was surprised to notice that the shower was fully equipped with shampoo, soap, and towels; apparently Prescott wasn't kidding him when he had told him the place had been fully stocked. How he had managed to do it while still in prison was a mystery to him, but as the other man had intimated, money went a long way toward getting what you wanted. It was a shame, though, that Prescott couldn't buy the one thing he wanted the most – him. His heart was, and forever would be, firmly entrenched with his husband's and nothing would ever change that fact.

He picked up the washcloth lying on a ledge nearby and, using the bar of soap next to it, wetted the fabric and vigorously rubbed the bar against the soaked cloth to produce a generous lather. He rubbed the cloth, over and over and over again, up and down his body as if he could wash the other man's assault off him from his memory. No crevice, no angle, no digit, no speck of skin or hair was spared as Justin stood under the shower, trying desperately to wash away the man's scent and the memory of his roaming hands and the cock embedded in his ass.

By the time the shower had run cold and he had turned it off, his body was so red it looked like it was almost bleeding from his actions; of course, it hadn't served to make him forget, but at least he felt just a little cleaner. The pain he had felt while in the shower had blunted his own internal pain slightly; where before it had been an acute, sharp, stabbing pain, it was now more of an aching, chronic anguish.

As he once more donned his pajama bottom, he wished he could stay in the bathroom forever, until Brian somehow found him and knocked the door down to whisk him away to safety. But he knew that was a pipe dream; his rather foolish attempt at bravado last night had only served to enrage his captor and eliminate the one chance he might have had at contacting the outside world.

He was trying so hard not to feel hopeless; he knew they wouldn't stay at this cabin forever, they couldn't. But each hour he was away from Brian, and each hour he was subjected to this man's twisted mind and actions, the more another piece of optimism died inside. _Please, Brian…Find me. I need you. I love you….._

"Justin?" He heard Prescott calling out to him rather impatiently. He knew if he didn't answer quickly, the man would be in the bathroom in a heartbeat.

"I'm just getting out of the shower," he told the other man, trying to sound as calm as he could. "I'll…..I'll be right out."

"Well, don't keep me waiting long," Lane told him as Justin inhaled a breath as he tried to calm himself. He took another deep breath before walking the few steps to the wooden door and turning the knob. As he slowly opened the door, his senses immediately recognized the sound and smell of bacon frying; the sun had emerged enough by now that he could make out the interior of the cabin easily. He looked, incredulous, over at the older man, who was standing in front of a small, propane stove, using a spatula to flip some pieces of bacon as he watched over a second pan containing scrambled eggs.

Lane peered behind him to look at Justin and smile, acting like they were some old, married couple on a rustic vacation. He was fully clothed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved, black, knit shirt. "I thought you might be hungry this morning, so I'm fixing us some bacon and eggs. Do you like white bread or wheat bread, Angel?"

Justin swallowed the lump of disbelief at the surreal scene in front of him; surely, this man was truly, unequivocally crazy. He bit back the response he would have liked to say for his own safety's sake as he found his voice enough to reply somewhat evenly, "White."

Lane nodded as he turned back to his cooking. "Would you set the table, Justin? The plates and mugs are above the sink, and the silverware's in the small drawer next to the refrigerator. Oh, and fix us some instant coffee, would you? I like mine black."

Justin licked his lips in nervousness as he painstakingly walked over to the small kitchen area, wondering idly how Prescott seemed to know where everything was. He opened the cabinet over the sink as requested, retrieving two white, Melmac dinner plates and mugs before opening the silverware drawer. He noticed with interest that there were only plastic utensils inside; he felt a rush of disappointment as he realized he couldn't get his hands on a nice, sharp butcher knife and promptly plunge it into the other man's back before retrieving two sets of forks and knives and taking the items over to a small, oval dinette table.

He returned to take the two mugs and fill them with the dark granules, carrying them over to the table. He stood there, unsure what to do or say. He was dying of curiosity to know what Lane had in mind for them, feeling that knowledge was power, but he also had no idea now what would set the other man off again. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to somehow provoke Prescott into a fit of rage; the last time that had happened, the man had assaulted him soon thereafter and he had just now managed to take just a little of the dirty, shameful feeling away in the shower.

He felt, rather than noticed, the other man's gaze on him as he turned to glance in his direction. Sure enough, Prescott was staring at him intently as he stood there with an oval platter containing the cooked bacon and eggs, along with two slices of white, buttered toast. "Sit down, Angel," he instructed Justin as he walked over toward him. "Breakfast is ready," he announced, smiling graciously as if nothing had happened last night.

Justin did as he was told, slowly pulling out one of the laminate, yellow and metal chairs and trying to subtly push it as far away from the other man's chair as possible; the two of them thankfully wound up sitting opposite each other as Lane placed the platter between them. "Hope you're hungry," he said cheerfully as he poured some hot water into each coffee mug and set it down on a wooden plate. "I really worked up an appetite after last night," he said huskily, sitting down in his own chair as Justin's face flushed with humiliation. "You have such a beautiful body, Angel. Of course, I knew you would. I just didn't know _how_ magnificent it really was until last night."

"Lane…..Please, can we not discuss that right now?" Justin had resolved to stay silent for his own sake, but he just couldn't. Just the thought of being with that man continued to make his skin crawl as he shuddered at the memory washing over him again.

"Why? It was wonderful, Justin. You're such a considerate lover."

Justin shook his head, desperately hoping that this was all just a horrible, bad dream; how could this man possibly say that? Justin had done nothing – _nothing_ – as Lane plundered and assaulted him, except lie there in shame and mortification as the man fucked him thoroughly. There were no murmurs of love, no tender emotions rendered, no soft-spoken, heartfelt words of endearment spoken, at least not from HIM. Those feelings and emotions were reserved for one man; they always had been and always would be. Just because his body happened to be somewhere else against his will didn't mean his heart had come with it; that tender organ was firmly planted back in Pittsburgh with his husband. He wanted to badly ask the man if he was out of his mind, and almost laughed at the irony. Of course he was – that was the only explanation. That also meant he didn't dare point that out to him, for fear his life would be tossed away just like last night's condom.

Instead of replying, therefore, he reached out and pulled the platter of food toward him, using his fork to push some eggs and a couple slices of bacon onto his plate. As much as hated to admit it, he really _WAS _hungry; he hadn't eaten since late yesterday afternoon, and with the lack of sleep compounding it, he knew if he wanted to keep his wits about him and his strength up, he needed to make himself eat. Reluctantly, therefore, he stabbed a small amount of the egg mixture onto his fork and took a couple of bites.

Lane didn't seem to mind the lack of conversation on Justin's part as he smiled once more at him and said, "How is it?" in a tone of voice as if they were some domesticated couple enjoying their typical morning ritual before they headed off to their respective jobs.

Justin swallowed his egg before managing to say noncommittally, "Fine," before reaching over to take a strip of bacon and bite off one end to place it in his mouth. He noticed Lane nodding as if he had said just the right compliment to him before the other man mimicked his actions and began to eat his own food. A few, rather uneasy minutes of silent permeated the rather small cabin as the two men continued their meal before Justin got up enough nerve to ask, "Lane…..Where are you planning on taking me?" He couldn't help it – he HAD to know. Besides, if he ever found a way to get a message to Brian, it might be crucial that he know their ultimate destination in case he could somehow arrive there before they did. Was the other man just crazy enough to divulge this information, though?

Apparently he was, because oddly enough the other man actually smiled at the question and said, "You're really anxious to know, aren't you, Angel? Getting excited about the details of our new life together? I know I am." Prescott warmed at the thought that maybe Justin was finally getting accustomed to the fact that the two of them belonged together and were destined to be partners forever. He couldn't wait to start their new life together; was it possible that Justin felt the same way now, too?

Justin studied the other man's expression; his face was animated and his eyes were lit with excitement over the thought of them being together. Deciding to play that to his advantage, he forced a slight smile on his face as he said, "Yeah…I'd really like to know, Lane," he said, trying to make his voice sound excited at the thought. "After our times before, I know you really like to do things up big. So where are we headed _this_ time?" He held his breath, both anxious as well as intently interested to hear the other man's response. Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait; Prescott was too elated over Justin's seeming interest now in their life together to stop.

He smiled even more broadly as he divulged his plans. "Well, there's a small, private airport about 22 miles away from here, in Jamestown. From there, we'll fly north and go into Canada, somewhere secluded and private but close enough to Toronto so we can find a person to perform our wedding."

Justin's heart dropped as his eyes widened in horror. Was this man serious? "W…..Wedding?" he sputtered out nervously. What part of him already being married did this man not understand?

Lane, however, merely beamed at his question, apparently not noticing the look of disbelief and dread on Justin's face. "Yes, Angel….I was thinking of keeping that a secret for now, but I just can't hold it in. There's no waiting period in Toronto and no blood tests needed; all we have to do is fill out an application and get the license. We can get married almost right away; isn't that wonderful? Oh, and don't worry – I don't care if you want to keep your name or take mine, Angel. I will respect your decision either way; I know how important your art is to you. I can't think of a better way for us to start our new lives together than as legally-wed mates, can you?" He reached over to take Justin's hand, which was trembling due to disgust. Lane, however, simply thought Justin was excited about the idea and smiled even more as he squeezed Justin's hand before thankfully releasing it and raising his coffee mug to his lips to take a sip.

Justin shook his head in incredulity; even after everything that had happened, despite the pain and anguish, he had still held out hope that the man he had known before was buried somewhere deep inside this shell of a human. But seeing the radiant, delighted, totally inappropriate look on the other man's face convinced him that he was not dealing with a man who had any sense of rationality left. For just a couple of seconds, he actually grieved for the intelligent, caring, and considerate man he had first met so long ago. But that was a long time ago – before Lane had stalked him, before the trial, and before he had killed other men and had almost killed Brian. The man Justin knew before as Lane Prescott, the mysterious, elegant, art-patron admirer, was gone and he was never coming back.

"Angel? Did you hear me? We can get _married_!" Lane exclaimed ecstatically. "Isn't that great? I know how romantic and sentimental you are. Isn't it wonderful? In no time at all, we'll be in Canada and be married – forever. I can't wait to slip the ring on your finger, my love." Lane actually looked a little embarrassed as he said, "I don't actually have the ring – yet. But we will – once we get to Canada and we're safely away from everyone looking for us here, we can be free to visit the most exclusive jewelry store in Toronto and find a ring worthy of your incredible beauty."

Justin couldn't help it as his blood boiled at the thought; his need to set this man straight conflicted with his common sense as he found himself blurting out, "Lane – I'm _married_‼ Don't you remember? You made me take Brian's fucking wedding ring OFF‼" He pursed his lips together to try and prevent the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes as he relived that moment when he had been forced to take his ring off that Brian had given him – the one that had been inscribed with his husband's words of love from that day he had first proposed to him: _For My Prince_. His heart constricted at the thought of having to leave that token of their love back at his place of captivity. At that moment, he didn't care about whether it upset the other man or not; nothing would compare to the way he had felt – and _still_ felt – about having to surrender his ring, and especially the indifferent, cruel way Lane had thrown it against the wall as if he were squashing a bug.

Justin's heart began to beat faster as he watched Lane's face darken with anger. His face was barely above a deadly whisper as he said, his eyes flashing, "I told you never to mention that man's name again, Justin! I don't fucking CARE if he thinks the two of you are married‼ That was a sham he perpetuated to feed his carnal desires! Your heart has always belonged to me and you are about to prove it‼ That wedding ceremony the two of you had was a farce! You and I were meant to be, do you hear me?" His voice became increasingly louder the longer he spewed his words of vitriolic anger at the younger man, his face contorted in jealousy and rage at the mention of the other man's name.

Justin watched in dread, his pulse racing as he wondered if Lane would get up and drag him back to the bed to assault him again. He wasn't going to deny his marriage to Brian, however, no matter what it cost him; he wasn't ashamed of it, and he wasn't going to hide his love for him.

He watched as Lane seemed to seethe silently for several seconds before the man's face relaxed somewhat. He took a breath before saying, "I will overlook that outburst for now, Angel, because I know how the other man brainwashed you from the moment he met you. He was the man who took your virginity and influenced your every thought. I could understand how confused you must be. But trust me; in a very short time, you will understand that I am the one destiny chose for you to spend the rest of your life with. I am your soulmate – we are meant to be together."

Justin watched with trepidation as the man arose with his clean plate; he wondered if the man might still come around to his side of the table, but breathed a sigh of relief when the man stared at him for a few seconds before nodding and turned to take his dishes over the sink instead. Justin jumped a little, though, as the plate and mug clattered in the ceramic basin. He watched as Lane wiped his hands on a nearby towel and turned to face him. "Finish your breakfast," Lane chided him sternly if he were speaking to a recalcitrant child. "We'll be leaving shortly."

"What?" Justin asked in shock. "I thought we were staying here for a while until things died down." Justin was actually hoping that the longer they stayed in place, the better the chances would be that their whereabouts would be determined. If Lane managed to reach this airport he was talking about, and they boarded a plane to Toronto, his heart told him they might never be found. If that turned out to be the case, he would rather be dead. He WOULD be dead, at least inside, without Brian.

Lane smiled as he licked his lips in eagerness. "Well, I've changed my mind, Angel. There's a change of clothes in the top drawer of the dresser over there. Get dressed. We're leaving as soon as we get packed. Now that I told you what I have in mind, I can't wait for us to get married. I'll take care of the dishes – get busy, Justin," he told the other man curtly.

Justin took a breath before he reluctantlhy nodded, still stunned and dumbfounded by this change of events, and by the fact that Lane was actually concerned about leaving with dirty dishes in the sink; he figured it was just one more confirmation about how this man had lost his mind. He couldn't hide his disappointment over their change in plans as he stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. He could feel hope slowly fading away with each hour that elapsed; now, the despair washed over him like an undulating wave as he walked over toward the dresser.

His eyes widened in disbelief, however, as he approached the bed and observed Lane's gun still lying on the mattress where the man had held possession of it earlier. He couldn't believe his luck. Just when he thought his chance of freedom had been cruelly taken away, it appeared that Fate was giving him one more opportunity. He stole a glance over his shoulder to confirm that Lane's back was still to him as he washed their breakfast dishes; the man had a dishtowel draped over his shoulder as he was rinsing one of the plates.

Holding his breath, Justin softly crept over to the mattress, his hands trembling over what he was about to do. He hadn't held a gun in his hand since his Pink Posse days, but right now he was grateful to Cody that at least the man had taken the time to instruct him in the proper way to hold a gun and shoot it. He didn't want to even entertain the horrible notion that he might have to use it; at that moment, his only interest was in scaring the other man enough to buy him enough time to get Lane to unlock the door and let him out. But he knew he would have to do whatever it took to get out of there; his time was quickly running out. He grasped his right hand in his left, trying desperately to control the trembling as he stood next to the bed. He once more glanced over his shoulder to confirm that Lane hadn't moved before he leaned down and stretched over the mattress to retrieve the gun. He could feel the cold metal of the weapon as his hand closed around it. He kept his back to the other man as a shield from what he was doing as he slowly raised himself up, feeling the weight of the unfamiliar pistol in his hand. His heart was racing with fear and excitement as he let out a deep breath before turning around.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest as he locked eyes with his captive and instinctively raised the weapon to point it at the older man. "Don't come any closer," Justin warned him, his shaky voice betraying his uneasiness.

Lane's expression on his face mirrored a wide range of emotions; initially shocked surprise, then disappointment, and finally anger. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Justin?" the man demanded as he slowly began to walk toward him, despite the other man's admonition.

Justin already believed Lane was truly insane, but as the man continued to advance toward him, he was convinced even more. "Lane – I'm warning you. Stop. Don't come any closer. Don't make me use this….please." His blue eyes were watering with tears of frustration and regret over what he might have to do.

He couldn't believe his eyes as the man continued to ignore his advice and proceeded to walk closer to the bed as if were blind and deaf. "I'll use this, Lane, I swear I will. I know how to shoot. Please don't make me use it on you. I just want out of here. You can go anywhere you want – just let me go." He knew if he left and allowed Lane to walk free, he would forever be looking over his shoulder in fear, but he just couldn't kill someone so cavalierly, even this man.

Lane's eyes darkened with anger and denial. "You would _shoot_ me, Justin? After everything I've done for you? This is the way you would _repay me_?" He continued to creep closer and closer, almost close enough to reach out now and take the gun away. "You disappoint me, Angel; you bitterly disappointment me."

"Lane," Justin stammered, his hand shaking slightly as he backed as far away from Lane as he could; his heart stopped as he felt the hard wooden door of the bathroom behind him and realized he had nowhere else to do. "This is your final warning. Please – I only want you to let me go. Don't make me use this, Lane." He realized, however, that he was going to have no choice; the man was totally ignoring him as he walked closer and closer.

Justin let out a strangled breath as he slowly cocked the trigger, preparing to release the hammer. _God forgive me_, he thought, as he raised his other hand to support the other and pulled the trigger back and pressed it. The expected recoil from the shot, however, never happened as he merely heard a click. In stunned disbelief, he clicked the trigger again and again with the same results. _Click, click, click, click, click..._

Lane quickly closed in on the remaining distance between them and clamped his hand over Justin's to violently wrench the gun away from him. "You fool, you son of a bitch!" he snarled at Justin, as he reached up and slapped him violently across the cheek. "I give you EVERYTHING and this is the way you _repay_ me? By trying to fucking SHOOT me‼ I LOVE you, Justin – how could you do this to US? Has that man brainwashed you that much?" He waved the pistol around agitatedly in the air as he growled, "The fucking gun wasn't _loaded_, Justin‼ I ran out of ammunition after breaking out of jail‼ I was going to get more ammo once we got into Canada; I never thought in my wildest dreams you would actually want to USE this on me‼"

Justin was still feeling the sting of the other man's slap when he cried out in pain as Lane grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the bed to push him roughly down on the mattress. Justin just managed to catch himself and stay upright as he bounced up and down on the bed. His eyes widened in fear over what the man would do now as Lane towered over him. He watched in dread as Lane turned slightly to yank open the top drawer of the dresser and snatch some clothing from it. Throwing the bundle down on the bed next to Justin, he snapped, "Now get fucking dressed – we're leaving‼ Just pray that I don't fucking strangle you with my bare hands for what you just DID‼"

Lane stood there glaring at Justin as the blond slowly picked up the long-sleeved tee shirt from the pile and, with trembling hands, managed to push it over his head and through his arms. He then slid off his pajama bottoms, noticing to his shame that Lane's eyes clouded over slightly in lust at the sight of his partially naked body before he quickly retrieved the briefs and pants nearby and pulled them up his legs to cover his legs, ass, and cock. As Lane continued to stand there, observing him with angry pants of breath, he somehow managed to finish his task by sliding on the dark-colored socks and reaching down to locate his sneakers partially hidden under the bed.

At last fully clothed, he slowly raised his eyes to gaze into his captor's darkened orbs of fury. Lane's face was almost beet red with disgust and disappointment as he stared back at Justin. "Stay there," he ordered his captive as he backed up enough to reach inside the small table next to the bathroom door and retrieve some items that were partially hidden from Justin.

As Lane turned around and the blond realized what they were, however, his heart sank; in Lane's hand were a looped bundle of white rope and a roll of duct tape, along with a rather large pocketknife that he had apparently produced from the pocket of his jeans. "I didn't want to do this, Justin, but you leave me no choice," he told the blond as he walked back over to the bed.

Justin's swallowed a lump of fear. "Lane….Please don't. I'll cooperate, I promise. Please don't tie me up and use that tape on me." The thought of being trussed and gagged like a steer being taken to the slaughterhouse brought nightmares back vividly of when the man had been stalking him; only Brian's gentle words and soothing caresses of love and reassurance that he was all right as he woke up thrashing in their bed saved him from being terrified out of his mind. Now, he was denied even that comfort as the man shook his head.

"Sorry, Angel," he said matter-of-factly as he used the knife to tear off a segment of the rope. "You thrust that decision on yourself. Until you learn to trust me – and I can trust YOU – I have to resort to this to keep you safe."

"Keep me _safe?"_ Justin huffed. "By tying me up and gagging me?"

"You may not realize it now, Justin," Lane grunted as he roughly turned Justin around and pinned his arms against his back. "But you will," he assured him as he deftly bound his arms tightly together.

"Lane," Justin tried one more time to reason with this out of control, insane monster. "Please – don't do this."

"It breaks my heart, Angel," he murmured, as he used his teeth to rip a strip of the duct tape matter-of-factly off the roll. "But I promise it will only be temporary." Justin shook his head, not only to object but also in an attempt to prevent what was about to happen, but Lane simply reached out and grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck and held him rigidly still as he slapped one side of the tape to the side of Justin's mouth. He then smoothed the tape over the other side of Justin's mouth, pressing it down to secure it as Justin's eyes mirrored his fear and terror. The tears flowed freely now down his eyes as he realized he was no longer just a captive – he was a prisoner in hell.


	12. An Ending and A Beginning

_Same Time – Entrance to Allegheny National Forest _

The Information Center at the entrance to the park was overflowing with vehicles but not due to a mob of visitors intent on sightseeing and trekking through the densely-wooded hiking trails. As the sun began to shine brightly upon the morning dew of the grassy slopes nearby, a multitude of Pennsylvania Highway Patrol police cars occupied every available parking space, along with several unmarked police vehicles and a large, black van with the lettering "SWAT" prominently displayed on each side. A group of dark-suited uniformed team members restlessly milled around the perimeter of the vehicle, face masks flipped up and their guns pointed casually down at the ground as they awaited instructions.

The main road leading into the park was cordoned off by two police cruisers, their occupants assigned the task of conducting a checkpoint of every vehicle entering and departing the park. The other two entrances had been quickly manned as well by pairs of two other patrolmen, all intent on preventing a possible kidnapper from leaving with his victim.

As Carl and Brian pulled up to the main entrance, Carl slowed the car and rolled down the window to produce his police officer badge.

The PHP officer nodded as he recognized the name. "Detective Horvath," he replied, noticing the man had a passenger with him who did not appear to be a policeman, but since Horvath was a private detective, it was difficult to tell. "The prosecutor wanted me to pass along a message to you that he's waiting at the Information Center."

Brian's heart sped up a little at the mention of Greg's name; Carl had been in frequent touch with the man over the past two hours; unfortunately, so far, there had been no other signals detected from his cell phone. He wasn't sure what to glean from that information. He only hoped that Justin and Prescott were still somewhere within distance of the cell tower that had been used before.

As he craned his neck upward through the front windshield, he could make out the top of a cell tower that was peeking through a thick blanket of trees on the sloping hillside. "You think that's the tower that Prescott used before?" Brian asked him as Carl resumed his drive down the paved park road.

"Not sure, but it should be," Carl decided. "Greg told me there's only one located in the park. Remember, though, we don't know he's still here even. Anything's possible with this bastard; with this guy, we're dealing with someone who isn't using a full deck."

"Don't remind me," Brian muttered, his voice full of concern over the lack of any more calls from his phone. He was hoping that meant the man had simply tried to get some sleep and wasn't using it. The thought that somehow his cryptic message to Justin had been discovered and the lack of activity meant something more ominous filled him with worry. If he found out that he was the cause of something happening to Justin because of what he had done, he would never forgive himself.

He sat up straighter in his seat as the Information Center came into sight; the parking lot was a sea of police vehicles, both marked and unmarked as two or three dozen men stood in groups, waiting for further guidelines on how to proceed. "Over there," Brian said, pointing out Greg to the detective. Matthews, wearing a casual, gray, ribbed sweater and a pair of jeans, was standing next to a couple of State Highway Patrolmen and waved as he recognized the two men pulling up to a nearby parking space and stopping their vehicle.

As soon as it stopped, Brian yanked open the passenger door and bounded over to Greg to shake his hand. "Has there been any other news?" he asked the prosecutor breathlessly as Carl walked up to join them.

"Carl," Greg acknowledged the other man as he turned to look sympathetically at Brian. Through the course of his prosecution of Prescott, he had grown to admire both Brian and Justin for their deep, abiding love and their support of each other, as well as Justin's courage in confronting his tormentor. Now, he was determined to help find Justin and reunite the two lovers once more. He was also determined to see that Prescott was locked up for the rest of his life. He had been convinced during the trial that Prescott had been trying to feign insanity in hopes of avoiding jail time; now, however, in light of what he had done, he was beginning to wonder if he might have been wrong about the cunning man after all.

"No, I'm sorry, Brian, there's been no other activity or word regarding their whereabouts," he told the brunet softly, watching as Brian's face fell at the news. "The PHP wanted to wait until it was light out to check out the perimeter around the cell tower; they're about to head out now but were told to wait for you, Carl, since you're the most familiar one with the case." He turned back to Brian to ask, "I'm assuming you want to come along, too?" He realized that was a stupid question; he knew Brian well enough by now to know there was no way he was going to sit here as a bystander while his partner was possibly being held hostage nearby.

Carl spoke up for him. "I told him he could come, but I've already warned him that he has to follow my instructions," he told the prosecutor flatly. "He understands that…..right, Brian?" he asked, looking at Brian intently to insure once again that he would abide by their agreement, however grudgingly.

Brian huffed out a breath of resigned annoyance as he brushed a hand through his tousled hair. "Yeah, yeah, but we're wasting fucking time. Let's get going, already!" His eyes practically pleaded as he thrummed with barely-restrained impatience.

Carl nodded. "Okay, let's go," he told the two men as they all quickly walked to Carl's SUV; Brian once more took his place in the passenger seat as Greg sat directly behind Carl in the back. As Carl followed the SWAT team out of the parking lot, they in turn were trialed by the remainder of the other police cars, all eager to try and locate the young man who had been snatched and ceremoniously whisked away to parts unknown.

Brian's heart was pounding with anticipation as well as anxiety; even if they DID locate where Lane was holding Justin, what would they do to rescue him? What sort of hideout would it be? A cave, a house, an RV, a tent, a cabin? Or were they still inside the SUV he had commandeered back at the old mansion? Was he holed up somewhere where he could readily see anyone approaching? How close would they be able to get to see whether or not Justin was with him and was safe? He refused to even think about the possibility that Justin was hurt, or even worse. He wouldn't think that way – it just wasn't possible. They had been through so much together – no God would be that cruel to rip him away from him now. _Hold on, Sunshine…just hold on….._he whispered to himself as the entourage methodically drove up the windy, two-lane paved road toward the cell tower that was looming closer and closer.

The tower was farther away than he realized, though, as he noticed they had been driving now for ten minutes and they were still a fair distance away. "How much longer, do you think?" he asked to no one in particular.

"GPS isn't going to do us any good now," Carl observed. "It doesn't have an address to hone in on, but by eyeballing it, I'd say about ten more minutes yet." As Brian hissed an impatient breath of agitation, he added, "Remember, even when we get there, we won't know exactly where he is, and we can't even be sure he's even still in the park. He could have left before we got the information."

"Don't the fuck _say_ that, Carl!" Brian snapped, his heart dropping at the thought. "He HAS to be here! And I'm going to find that fucker if it's the last thing I do‼"

"I hope you're right, Son," Carl told him as he concentrated on his driving. "I hope you're right. But we're going to find him together."

_

* * *

_

Same Time – Prescott's Hideout

A feeling of déjà vu invaded Justin's mind as he sat in one of the cabin's metal dinette chairs, his hands tied securely to the back of the seat; in addition to being scared out of his mind, his current predicament also served to remind him of how Brian had been lured to that other house and he had found him in the same circumstances, even down to the duct tape over his mouth.

As he watched Prescott scurry around, gathering up items for their next move, he tried to analyze various scenarios for escape in his exhaust-laden mind, but none appeared too promising at the moment. He had no way to contact anyone on the outside, at least not unless they happened to stop somewhere along the way and he could pass along some type of message secretly to a stranger. The chances of his captor allowing him to do anything out of his sight, however, were slim to none, especially after he had pointed that gun at him.

He still couldn't believe the gun hadn't been loaded; that weapon had been the main reason, after his fear for Brian's safety, that he hadn't tried to do more to escape until now. And then when he finally was given what he thought was an opportunity to use it, he had discovered it didn't matter; the madman had run out of bullets. If he hadn't been in such a dire predicament at the moment, he would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. But as he watched Prescott pick up one of their hard plastic supply crates and begin to tote it toward the door and then outside to the car, the last thing he felt like doing at the moment was laughing. Not only would they be gone from here in a matter of minutes, if not seconds, but what he considered his best chance at being found was being left behind them.

He watched intently as Prescott re-entered their hideaway, walking purposefully toward the second and final supply crate. He noticed the other man meeting his gaze and his heart instinctively began to beat faster.

"We're almost ready, Angel," the other man told him, smiling. "Almost time for the next part of our life together." He nodded slightly as he turned and walked back out the door with his final package.

Justin closed his eyes and shook his head, not sure if he was doing it because he disagreed vehemently with Prescott's plan – which he most certainly did – or if he was still trying to come to grips with how much over the edge of sanity the man had fallen.

He watched with dread as Prescott once more re-entered the cabin and closed the door, this time walking over to a worn, faded overstuff armchair near the window and reaching for his jacket. He quickly donned the item and placed his keys in one of the pockets. As he turned around, he stopped momentarily to once more rest his gaze on his captive. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Justin," he lamented to the other man. "But soon, once we are up in the air, I promise I'll release you." He took one more sweeping glance around the room before nodding in satisfaction and reurning to Justin, who peered up at him warily.

He walked around the chair and, retrieving the knife from his jeans pocket, he flipped the blade open and cut the additional rope holding Justin's hands tightly bound to the chair's back. As his hands were finally, temporarily freed from their position, the blond began to knead his hands together in an attempt to regain circulation in them. It had been some time since Justin's damaged hand had given him a lot of discomfort since the bashing – over time, it had almost, thankfully diminished to nothing – but having been bound behind the chair for several minutes, he was dismayed to discover once more that the pain and stiffness had returned and in even greater force. His damaged hand throbbed as he winced in agony.

Despite his lunacy, Lane's face surprisingly softened at the other man's discomfort as he knelt down in an attempt to take Justin's hands in his to help. As he reached over, however, Justin's eyes flashed with stubborn rebellion and he pulled them back with quick recoil, aghast at the thought of this man trying to help him.

Lane wasn't to be deterred, however. He reached over to grab Justin's wrists as he said, "Now, Angel, I'm just trying to help you." Justin shook his head in disgust and tried to shrink back in the chair but it was no use; how he wished he could reason with the man he used to know, but the sane, rational man he knew before wasn't there anymore. He pressed up against the back of the chair but there was nowhere to go as Lane began to rub the palm of his hands in a circular motion with his thumb.

Justin's eyes filled with tears, because the unexpected tender touch of the other man's ministrations reminded him of how Brian would do the same thing to him when he experienced pain in his hand; but now, the almost gentle actions weren't those of a loving partner and husband; they were those of a man who in his world of surreal fairytale romance thought he was taking care of his devoted lover and it made Justin want to vomit as he surrendered in defeat to the imposed treatment.

After a few minutes, Lane stood up, pulling Justin up with him. "It's time to go, Angel," he commanded. He tilted his head toward the side, telling the blond, "You can go in and use the bathroom if you want." Justin stood there as he tried desperately to think of some way to escape through the other room but knowing there wasn't any way to do so. Truthfully, though, he _did_ need to relieve himself again, so reluctantly he nodded as he turned and walked over to the bathroom and shut the door, once more luxuriating briefly in being blissfully alone for even a few seconds.

He took in a deep breath through his nose as he glanced around the room that had been part of the worst night of his life; yes, this had been worse by far than even the night Hobbs had whacked him with the bat. Unlike the night that he could only recall bits and pieces of, he could remember every minute, horrible detail of the past twenty-four hours with blinding, horrific clarity, and it seemed that his nightmare was just beginning with no end in sight. Sighing in misery, he quickly undid his pants and relieved himself, zipping them back up before Prescott came banging on the door, demanding that he come out.

_

* * *

_

Same Time – Allegheny Forest Cell Tower

"Well, this is it," Greg told them from the back seat as they sat in the idling car, examining their surroundings. Like most cell towers constructed throughout the country, this one was in a remote, isolated area accessible only by the dirt side road they were presently parked on, guarded by a tall, wire fence and a locked, double-door gate. Thick tension wires ran from the top of the tower down to the ground; as he gazed up at the top, it reminded Brian of some grotesque sort of metal Christmas tree. Inside the fenced-in area was a small, square concrete structure that held the controls and maintenance functions for the tower. There was no one anywhere around it, however, much to Brian's dismay, and no sign of any habitation.

Brian recalled from his prior math classes that 200 meters was just over 218 yards; about the distance of two football fields. If Justin and Prescott were still anywhere around, he surmised it shouldn't be too hard to find them. His heart sank, then, when it couldn't readily see any signs of life from their location.

"Let's get out and look around," he suggested. Perhaps on foot they could see something that they were unable to find from the car.

"No way," Carl admonished him as he bristled at the suggestion. "Remember what I told you, Brian – we do this MY way. And I am not getting out of this car with two civilians in it."

Greg was actually a little ruffled by the suggestion that he was merely a "civilian" but he kept his mouth shut because he knew it was important to keep Brian contained; the man had barely been able to stay still during the 20-minute ride up the winding road toward their destination, and the closer they got the more anxious he became. Now as Carl told him the news that they were not getting out of the car to check things out on foot, he could see Brian about to explode with nervous energy.

Fortunately, Carl must have noticed the same, because he added, "The others are searching right now by car and foot, Brian. It's a short perimeter base; if they find something, they will notify me immediately. They're the pros – let them do their job," he told the other man softly as he turned to look sympathetically into the worried, hazel eyes of one of Debbie's "sons." He was fervently hoping some good news would come out of this search; if he had to go back to Debbie and tell her that nothing came of this hunt or, worse yet, that Justin had somehow gotten hurt during the process, he didn't want to see the look in either her eyes or Jennifer's at the heartbreaking, devastating news. Worse of all, he didn't want to have to look into _Brian's_ haunted eyes.

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted as all three men jumped at the sound of Carl's cell phone going off. Brian's breath caught in his throat as Carl quickly flipped the phone open to answer it. "Yeah," he said brusquely; he listened for a few seconds before turning to look at Brian and then Greg.

"Okay, we'll be right there," he said, snapping his phone shut and quickly jamming the car into drive. "One of the teams has spotted what appears to be a rundown, abandoned cabin through their binoculars," he told them. "Except there's an SUV fitting the description of the escape vehicle parked next to it. All the curtains are drawn so they can't see inside, but it certainly looks suspicious. They're watching it from some trees about a hundred yards away."

Brian's heart began to pound furiously as Carl quickly accelerated their car; it had to be Justin and Prescott – there could be no other explanation. The vehicle description fit and it was within 200 meters of the cell tower. Not ever being one to look to divine intervention when his life was involved, he found himself now still praying to the powers-to-be that Justin was alive and safe as they hurriedly rushed toward the spotter's location, arriving in less than a minute.

He was about to fling the passenger door open but found the door handle wouldn't open it. "Damn it, Carl!" he exploded as he furiously tried to wrench the door open. "Let me out of this fucking car‼" he demanded, his eyes flashing with fury at the detective as he glared at him scathingly, hatred in his eyes.

Carl shook his head; it was one of the hardest decisions he had to make but it was necessary for both Brian's and Justin's sake. "No, Brian, we had an agreement. You are to do what I say." He motioned to Greg that it was okay for him to get out of the car as he opened his own car door, shut it quickly to lock it and manually opened Greg's door. Brian made an impromptu attempt to scamper over the front seat of the car and escape the same way that Greg had, but Carl was too fast for him, quickly slamming the door shut behind the prosecutor before he had a chance to disembark and pressing the key fob to relock all the doors. Being a detective meant he had the capacity to lock all the doors from the inside with his fob and he used that to his advantage now, only this time it was to protect the passenger inside rather than safeguarding the safety of others on the outside.

"Let me the fuck out of here‼" Brian shouted at him, not realizing he could possibly be endangering Justin by his voice being overheard.

Carl immediately rectified that by leaning against the backseat window and hissing at him as quietly as he could while still being understood, "Shut the fuck up, Brian! Do you want Prescott to hear you?" That was enough to promptly quiet Brian, who above all, was scared to death of Justin being harmed. Carl figured it was dirty to resort to that, but it was the truth and he was prepared to use whatever he needed to keep both men safe. "I promise I'll let you out as soon as I reasonably can," he promised to Brian, who huffed angrily at the other man but knew he was resigned to doing what the other man demanded.

Carl nodded at him, trying to show that he did understand the man's torment, before he grabbed Greg by the shoulder to encourage him to follow. As Brian watched helplessly from the back of the car, the two men walked toward a nearby, dirt trail and quickly took off through the woods; they were quickly swallowed up from view and disappeared to Brian's dismay.

As he sat there in the backseat, he frantically looked around for some way to escape; despite what he had told Carl, if the man thought he was going to sit there like some obedient little puppy dog while his partner was being placed in harm's way, the man had another thing coming. He knew what he had promised, but now that they were so close to finding his partner, he just couldn't sit there. He was the best judge of what Justin needed, and he needed to be with HIM.

He wracked his brain for an idea while he tried every door handle available to him; nothing would budge as he banged his hand against the back of the seat in anger. Pressing his legs against the pane of the car window and trying to punch it out was useless, too. There _had_ to be something, some tool, anything, to help him get out of his temporary holding cell. He restlessly brushed his hand through his hair in desperation. Being an SUV, the vehicle didn't really have a trunk, so there was no need for one of those emergency handles from the inside to escape from that part of the vehicle.

"Shit!" Brian cried out in anger and vexation as he found himself unable to escape. As he stewed there, thoughts of what Justin must be going through kept entering his mind, but it was no use. Until Carl came back and released him, he was apparently a virtual prisoner inside the vehicle. He huffed out a groan of resignation as he finally banged his head against the back of the seat cushion in helplessness. This was so unfair – he needed to be there for Justin – and for himself. He couldn't stand this.

He turned to drop down on the floor on his knees, facing sideways as he began to rummage under the front seats, hoping that he could find something – anything – that would break him out of his confinement, but there was nothing – no wrench, no stick, no paper clip to try and jimmy the lock, not a god-forsaken thing. It was as if the man had vacuum-cleaned the interior of the car before placing him inside; it looked so clean you could have eaten off the floorboard.

In desperation, he climbed into the very back of the vehicle, searching for something to help him. There was nothing, however, but a couple of blankets and two jugs of bottled water. He was about to turn and clamber back over the seats of the vehicle to return to the passenger area when his eyes fell upon a metal ring on the bottom of the floor. A cutout of the rug was visible as Brian pulled on the ring and a compartment opened up underneath. He could see the spare tire for the vehicle securely nestled inside, along with a black, vinyl bag lying beside it. Ignoring the tire and retrieving the bag, he unzipped it, praying that what he hoped for was inside.

He smiled as his hand reached in and curled around a familiar, heavy, cold, piece of metal: a tire iron. Lifting it out of the bag, he cradled it in his hand as if it were a lifesaver; maybe in a way, it was going to be as he prepared to use it as his escape weapon.

* * *

Further down the trail, Carl and Greg rushed up to a small, armed group of black-clad men who were members of the SWAT Team. They noticed what appeared to be a small rope ladder leading down from a nearby, large tree as someone barked a quick statement into a small cell phone and seconds later, a man began to descend from the tree on the ladder as if he had just reappeared after a brief trip to one of the puffy clouds that were presently dotting the sunny, blue sky.

The stocky, muscular man, wearing the same uniform and bullet-proof vest as the rest of the SWAT team, walked over to the two men and stuck his hand out. "Captain Martin Elliott," he informed them. "Are one of you Carl Horvath?"

Carl nodded as he shook the man's hand. "That's me, Captain; we just talked on the phone. This is Greg Matthews, the county prosecutor who tried Prescott's case before. He's very familiar with the man you're seeking. What's going on?"

"Well, I've got two more men nearby up in the trees keeping an eye on the cabin. The SUV's still parked there but so far they haven't seen any movement. But it's damned peculiar – we checked real estate ownership records with the county here and they show this cabin has been in foreclosure since last year. The SUV matches the description of Prescott's getaway vehicle; to me, it all adds up to the conclusion that he's inside with his hostage."

"Captain?" All three man immediately hushed as they heard a voice calling out to Elliott over his phone's intercom.

"Elliot - Go," the captain barked as he held the phone out for the others to hear.

"We just got a positive ID on Prescott, Captain. The man just came out carrying a plastic tote and placed it in the vehicle. I think he's getting ready to run, sir. What are your orders?"

Carl and Greg exchanged concerned looks as they listened to the Captain's response. "Keep an eye on him in case he starts moving before we reach you. We're on our way."

"Will do, Sir," the other man replied as Elliott snapped his phone shut and turned to his men. "Let's go, guys," he called out as he nodded his head for Horvath and Matthews to follow behind him. "The man I was just talking to has been staking out the cabin for the past fifteen minutes. Sounds like we've found our man." He glanced over his shoulder at the two others following him, his men trailing close behind as he stated, "You know this man better than we do; it's obvious he's extremely dangerous after reading up on his jail break, and I'm aware he has a hostage. That's about all I've been told. Any suggestions?"

Carl's voice came out breathlessly as the three of them practically jogged toward the cabin, stopping periodically to push back some of the denser brush from the heavily-wooded trail. "He's capable of extreme violence and I think he's gone off the deep end to boot, so we're not even dealing with a rational person," he told the other policeman, as Greg nodded in agreement. "It's hard to anticipate what he might do. Before, I would have bet he wouldn't have harmed his hostage, since he's had an abnormal obsession with him for several years now. But now I'm not so sure that he might not injure Justin just to insure that no one else could have him."

"That's going to make it difficult to try and negotiate with him, then," Elliott huffed out as he continued to hurry toward the rendezvous point. "But it's worth a try. If we try to rush the guy and just ram in the door, there's a good possibility the hostage will get hurt, too. I think that's our best tactic. We'll just have to hope the guy isn't totally crazy and can somehow still be reasoned with."

As they hurried toward their meeting point, Carl turned to look at Greg, who shook his head. They both knew what was going through each other's mind – neither knew how this would all turn out, but both were extremely concerned that the outcome would not be a good one. This whole scenario was dependent upon being able to reason with Prescott; was that even possible now?

* * *

Back at the cabin and oblivious to the drama occurring just outside, Justin reluctantly opened the bathroom door and emerged back into the main living area, noticing Prescott taking one last look around the room as if they had been hotel guests and were checking out. Apparently satisfied that he hadn't left anything essential behind, he turned to face the blond, another length of rope in his hand and the unloaded gun in his other. He jammed the pistol casually in his waistband as he retrieved the pocketknife from his jeans and tossed it up and down in his outstretched palm.

Smiling in anticipation now that the next leg of their journey was about to occur and that they would be one step closer to being married, he walked closer to Justin and quietly demanded, "Turn around."

Justin tried to reason with him through the pleading expression in his eyes – silently beseeching him to remove the duct tape and not bind him again – but he knew deep down it was no use; the man no longer felt like he could trust him anymore and it had now become more of a power struggle with Lane feeling the need to emerge victorious. The grim expression in the older man's eyes told Justin all he needed to know as his heart sank. "Do what I say, Justin," the man sternly commanded.

With the man holding the dangerous-looking pocketknife in one hand, Justin didn't even try to rebel this time as he merely did as he was requested and turned his back to Prescott and held his hands out for Lane to once again bind his hands tightly together. He closed his eyes as revulsion washed over him when he felt Lane's hot breath in his ear. "Seeing you like this is such a turn-on, Angel," he whispered huskily. "We'll have to try this tonight in our bed. I want to feel your body writhing beneath mine as you go out of your mind with desire for me. I'll tease you and suck you until you are begging me for release."

Justin squeezed his eyes shut at the man's raspy, lust-filled tone of voice as if that could somehow drown out what the other man was saying; he shuddered as he felt Lane's whisper-light touch on him as his hand roamed from the middle of his shoulder blades down to the small of his back. "So beautiful," he whispered reverently. "Mine."

Justin tried one last effort at rebellion as he used his legs to scoot away, out of the man's touch, but the other man simply laughed softly and pulled him tightly up against his own body; he could feel the man's cock hardening at the contact. "Playing hard to get, Angel? I like a challenge. But there's the pity – it will have to wait until later. We must get going."

Justin gulped, the breath heaving in his chest as he tried to force himself to ignore what was happening. As Lane placed his hand on Justin's bound ones to lead him toward the door he tried to ignore the other man and concentrate instead of thinking of Brian – his loving touch, his soft, baritone, hypnotic voice, his smell so uniquely his, the tender looks he would give him that said so much without saying a word. How he wished he could see him, feel him, and touch him.

Just before they reached the door, however, both men stopped dead in their tracks as a booming voice suddenly blared over what sounded like a bullhorn. "Lane Prescott!" a deep, commanding voice called out, startling in its tone and clarity. "This is the Pennsylvania Highway Patrol. Surrender and come out with your hands up!"

Justin's eyes grew large as saucers at this unexpected turn of events as Lane cursed vehemently; his heart soared with hope that Brian was outside waiting for him, but he was terrified at what his captor would do to avoid being arrested. He struggled with Lane as the man immediately shoved him to the side of the door and stood in front of him, pacing rapidly back and forth. "Shit!" he screamed in despair. "Shit‼ Fuckers‼ If they think I'm going out there and giving up, they're fucking crazy‼" he cried out angrily, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to formulate a plan.

He stopped as he turned to stare at Justin, who was shrinking back from him at the man continued to spew profanities in his restless tirade. His heart stopped as he watched the man's expression change from a look of angry desolation over being found to one of epiphany. "Don't worry, Angel," he cooed at Justin. "We'll get out of here yet." He reached out to grab Justin by the upper arm and drag him back to the door.

* * *

It took Brian three tries of swinging the tire iron at the front passenger door before it began to crack; sweat was pouring off his forehead as the effort took its toll and his arms ached with the attempt but he wouldn't – he _couldn't_ – stop as he raised both arms once more and slammed the heavy, metal rod against the pane once again. He was rewarded with a shattering noise as fragments of the safety glass cracked and splinters burst outward.

He began to rapidly chip away at the remaining glass, quickly removing as much of the shards as he could before throwing the object through the window; grabbing onto the roof with his hands, he hoisted his upper body through the window and swung his legs behind him, jumping quickly to the ground and taking off at a run in the same direction Matthews and Horvath had gone.

* * *

Carl stood next to Greg and Elliot who had just delivered the mandate to Prescott to surrender; he was too focused on what Prescott would do to notice anything else as he, along with all the other men, waited silently for the man's response to their demand. Normally during negotiations the first attempt would be made by phone, but they had tried Brian's cell number to no avail; the phone simply rang several times before going to his voicemail. Whether Prescott was choosing to ignore their entreaties or somehow was unable to respond, he was not cooperating with that avenue, so they had had to resort to Plan B – using the bullhorn to communicate.

Horvath turned to Elliott, concern on his face. "Do you think this is the wisest approach? The man is dangerous."

Elliott shrugged. "What would you have us do, Horvath? We've already scouted the back of the cabin – there's no rear door; the front is his only mode of escape. There're bars on the windows. He has to come out this way. If he doesn't come out soon, though, tear gas would be the next option to _make_ him come out."

"But what about Justin? He's in there with him!"

The younger cop bristled at the unspoken criticism. "I'm well aware of that, Detective. But we have no way of communicating with him to try and reason with him; besides, the man's apparently a raving lunatic and isn't rational anyway. We can't force ourselves in without endangering the hostage. The only other option if he doesn't come out on his own is to flush him out and hope that he doesn't harm Taylor in the process."

"That's not much of an alternative," Carl muttered skeptically, although truthfully, he, too, was at a loss as to what to do; they couldn't reason with the man, and the longer he kept Justin, the more likely it was that he would somehow harm him. He sighed in resignation, silently praying that the foreboding he felt in his gut was misplaced and the outcome wouldn't be a disaster.

Elliot turned briefly to peer at him, his face unexpectedly sympathetic as he said, "I know, I understand; but it's all we've got."

* * *

Justin's heart was beating rapidly as he wondered what Lane had in mind; surely the man knew they just couldn't walk out of there scot free; what, then, could he possibly have in mind? Of course, they weren't talking about a sane, rational man – this was a madman. He bit his lip, wanting so badly to be able to ask this man what in the hell he was thinking as he continued to drag him to the door.

He watched, astounded, as Prescott reached in his pocket and jammed the key into the lock to turn it. He took one look at Justin before he turned the knob and, pushing Justin in front of him with one hand, he slowly pulled the door to open it just a crack.

The three men outside stared, mesmerized, at the door as it slowly opened. "Hold your fire!" Elliott barked as he observed one man, blond and slender, emerging, his mouth bound with silver duct tape and his hands behind his back. Justin's eyes were wide with fear as he noticed the band of uniformed men positioned around the perimeter of the structure, their rifles or pistols aimed and pointing at him and Prescott.

Carl and Greg's breath hitched in their throats as they watched Prescott emerge right behind Justin, one hand clamped tightly around his waist from behind as he pointed a gun at Justin's right temple.

"No one move or I'll blow his fucking head off‼" Prescott snarled loudly. Justin tried to struggle against the other man, but without the use of his hands, he had no leverage to fight back. He scanned the men staring back at them intently, finally honing in on the familiar faces of Carl and Greg. That made him feel a bit more hopeful, despite his dire circumstances, but his eyes frantically searched for the one man he needed to see most of all – _Brian_. Where was he? And was he all right? He knew nothing would have prevented him from being here if he knew where he was; why wasn't he present, then? In a way, he was relieved he _wasn't_ there, because as terrified as he was about his own life, the thought of Brian being in danger terrified him even more.

"Let him go, Prescott‼" Carl shouted authoritatively, electing to take over whether Elliot wanted him to or not; the man already knew him and should also know that he meant business. He should also realize that he wouldn't stop until he was back behind bars. He was hoping somehow the man would realize it was in his best interests to give up, but his heart sank as the man spat on the ground in response.

"Not happening, Horvath!" Prescott shouted. "I'm getting out of here, or his blood will be on YOUR hands!" He began fidget in place restlessly, the gun plastered to the side of Justin's head, as Justin tried desperately to somehow convey that the gun wasn't loaded and Prescott was simply bluffing. He shook his head violently as Lane continued to hold onto him tightly, tears coming to his eyes over his inability to speak and warn the others of Prescott's ruse.

"We can't let him just drive out of here," Elliot said as he watched the other man angrily spewing threats against his hostage; he could feel the tension of his men as they silently itched to spring into action but waited reluctantly for further orders.

Lane continued to shout at the crowd, warning them not to advance or Justin would be killed, as the two officers mulled over their options. "I want all of your men to back off, Horvath‼" he shouted at the detective. "I want them gone in one minute or I swear to God, I'll blow his fucking head off!"

Carl cursed. "Damn it! I was afraid of that!"

"You're not going to do it?" Elliott whispered to him, incredulous.

"What choice do we have?" he countered. "I KNOW this man, Captain! He doesn't make idle threats! If we don't do what he says, he will follow through with them. He's already killed three people, including his own brother, remember? Now call them the hell off and pull back‼" he commanded, staring unblinking at the other man, who shook his head in protest.

Nonetheless, he knew Carl was in charge and he knew as a result he had to comply. He huffed out a defeated breath. "Okay, okay….I'll move them back and out of sight. But they're going to stay on the outside perimeter so the man can be followed – agreed?"

Carl considered that; there was no way in good conscience he could let Prescott get out of there unscathed; as much as he didn't want to risk Justin's life, if there was any hope of saving him, they would have to keep track of their whereabouts.

"Okay," he agreed, keeping a watchful eye on Prescott to make sure he wasn't making any sudden moves toward harming Justin. "But only a couple of cars and unmarked. We don't want to spook him into doing something that would risk Justin's life."

Elliott nodded as he began backing up from the angry man standing on the door's threshold. "Pull back!" he commanded to his men, who groaned in disagreement that they were giving into this man. They would follow their commander's orders, however, whether they agreed with them or not. The men began to back away from the scene, their weapons still drawn as a precaution as they slowly began to disappear into the heavily-wooded area behind them.

Within a few seconds, Carl found himself alone with just Prescott and Justin, wondering what to do to somehow make this man understand he had to let his hostage go; he briefly realized that in the heat of the moment, Greg had also disappeared, presumably to go with Elliot and his men. Carl decided it was just as well; it was only fitting that the two adversaries would be left alone.

"Okay, Prescott," he said evenly, beginning to inch ever slower toward the two men still standing on the small, wooden porch stoop. "I did what you asked. Why don't you just let Justin go now? I'm sure you really don't want anything to happen to him. Just let him go and we can discuss this reasonably."

Prescott snorted in contempt at the man's audacity. "Don't make me laugh, Horvath! And don't come any closer, you son of a bitch, or I swear I'll shoot! If I can't him, no one else will, either! Don't come any fucking closer, Horvath, I'm warning you!"

Carl immediately raised his hands, palms out in supplication as he tried to reassure Justin with a small look of boldness. "Okay, okay, Prescott. I won't come any closer. But please – just let him go. I know you don't want him hurt. Just let Justin go and you can leave."

Prescott rolled his eyes as he pressed the gun even deeper into the pale flesh of Justin's forehead, which had broken into a sweat; the beads of perspiration began to slowly create rivulets of moisture as he blinked his eyes and shook his head minutely, trying unsuccessfully to keep it from getting into his eyes. Prescott's vise-grip around his waist and the gun pointed at the side of his head, however, kept him from being successful.

"Do you take me for a fool, Horvath?" Prescott answered him. "If I let him go, my guarantee of getting out of here goes with him. No deal! We're both leaving here together and you're not going to try and stop me! Now back away!" he demanded. To emphasis his point, he briefly moved the gun away from Justin's head and gestured toward the side with it to indicate that Carl should go.

What only took a matter of seconds was all that was needed as a shot unexpectedly rang out and reverberated throughout the heavily-treed canyon.

* * *

Brian ran at breakneck speed, oblivious to the brambles and branches hitting him in the face as he rushed along the narrow trail toward the cabin where Prescott was holding Justin. Nothing would deter him from reaching the place where his husband was being held, and he was not leaving there without him at his side.

He had been running for approximately five minutes when he jumped at the booming sound of a gunshot nearby. His heart leapt into his throat and his face turned white. "Justin," he whispered, his feet moving rapidly as if in an automatic cadence as he plunged on, desperately praying that he wouldn't find what he dreaded he might find. _No…Justin…..Please no….._

He raced on, his lungs about to explode from the exertion until he reached a clearing and almost ran headlong into Matthews, who was holstering the 44-caliber revolver he had just fired from twenty-feet away.

"Greg!" he cried out as he burst into the clearing; the prosecutor whipped his head around at the greeting to stare in astonishment at Brian as if he were a ghost.

"Brian!" Carl shouted from his kneeling position at the front of the cabin; he had rushed up to Prescott and Justin upon hearing the shot and seeing the older man slumping, mortally wounded, to the ground. He had just verified the man had no pulse and was indeed, finally, dead.

The detective didn't have time to ask the man how in the hell he had managed to get out of the car. He only knew he was grateful he was there, because the young man standing next to him, pale as a ghost and trembling violently, was in dire need of the sort of comfort only one man could give him.

But Brian didn't need to be told that. He just kept on running until he was within a few feet of Justin. At his husband's feet was what remained of Prescott; a bullet hole in the side of his temple and a small stream of blood were the only visible signs that the man had been shot as he lay there now, lifeless and still.

Brian opened his mouth, trying to inhale oxygen into his lungs to get his heart beating again as he stared at the horrifying sight of Justin standing next to him, his hands bound behind his back and his mouth covered with duct tape, much like he himself had been before at the mansion. He ignored the dead man at his feet as he slowly walked up to his partner and gently slid his hands around his trembling, slender body. "Justin…Oh, God, Justin," he whispered over and over again, holding him tightly as he rocked him back and forth. "Justin….."

He slowly pulled back a few inches to reach out and grasp one end of the tape to gingerly begin pulling the strip away as gently as he could; he winced at the adhesive tenacity of the material as Justin cried out at the pain. "I'm sorry, Sunshine," Brian murmured. "I'm so sorry…." Both men knew he wasn't apologizing just for that, but both were too spent to even try to talk as Brian once more took his husband in his arms and folded him tightly into an embrace, murmuring soothing, mainly unintelligible words of comfort to him as he placed his chin on the soft blond head. "Justin…..Oh, God…"

He heard Justin cry out as cursing silently, he pulled back and began to frantically try to figure out a way to release the rope that was still tightly binding his hands together behind his back. "Turn around, Justin, let me see," he implored gently. Justin hesitated for a couple of seconds, hearing the same command that had been spoken from Prescott, before he realized this was Brian – the man he trusted with his life – and slowly turned around to let the other man examine his trussed hands.

"Damn it!" Brian cursed as he fumbled with the tightly-knotted hands to no avail.

"Here," Carl told him, standing up and holding out the knife he had found in the dead man's pocket.

Taking it, Brian nodded as he flipped the knife open and rubbed the blade back and forth over the rope, finally succeeding after several seconds in severing the tight knot and freeing Justin's hands. He rushed to completely unwrap the roping and threw the shredded material and knife on the ground, reaching over to gently take Justin's right hand in his and begin softly massaging the hand to try and get some circulation into it.

He noticed with great concern that Justin still hadn't said anything. "Justin?" he whispered softly. "Justin – talk to me." He released the pale, shaking hand and took the other one, repeating the motion for several seconds as Justin remained mute to his entreaties. He noticed that his husband's eyes wouldn't meet his as the blond chose to keep his head lowered as if in silent submission to him.

He released Justin's hand and reached to place his hand under the trembling chin to gently turn the blue eyes to gaze up into his. "Justin?" he whispered. "It's okay, Sunshine. It's all over. He's never going to hurt you again."

Justin's face was blotchy from the numerous tears that had cascaded down his cheeks from his ordeal; as he looked into Brian's eyes full of love and concern, the realization that Prescott was finally out of their lives began to coalesce in his mind as Brian continued to look back at him, his eyes gazing into his intently. Finally, he realized he was focusing into the eyes of the man he loved, not the hard, senseless orbs of a man driven over the edge with obsession and insanity.

"You hear me, Sunshine?" Brian repeated softly, his voice full of conviction. "Prescott is DEAD. He's gone and he's never coming back. Justin?" he whispered, biting his lower lip in anxiety.

Justin licked his lips, trying to regain feeling in them just like a modern version of a Wizard of Oz Tin man before he finally spoke; his voice was like music to Brian's ears as he asked in a raspy whisper, "He's really gone?"

Brian smiled at him tenderly, his heart breaking at the plaintive sound of his husband's voice. "Yes, Justin, he's really gone – for good this time." He once more pulled the blond into his arms and began to rain soft, butterfly kisses on the top of his head, vowing never to let him go ever again as Justin sighed into his chest and he slowly, tentatively, wrapped his own arms around the taut back, relishing in the familiar touch and smell of the man he loved. This wasn't a dream this time and it certainly wasn't a nightmare – it was heaven at last.

Carl and Greg stood nearby, watching the tender scene unfolding as Elliott came running up with a group of his men; they had immediately turned around upon hearing the gunshot and had rushed into the clearing, stopping as they noticed the surreal sight that greeted them.

"Can you call 9-1-1 out here?" Carl asked Elliott as the captain ran up to them, his hand still curled around his rife as he pointed it at the ground.

Elliott shook his head. "Too isolated," he told him.

Carl nodded, not surprised by the revelation. "I'll take him to be checked out, then, if you'll call the coroner and secure the place for evidence."

Elliott nodded. "Will do. Anything else?"

Carl looked at Greg, who pulled out his pistol and handed it, gun end out, to the Captain. "Yeah, I think you'll need to a statement from me about what happened. I'm the one who shot him."

Elliott's eyebrows rose at that statement; he assumed that Horvath had delivered the fatal shot. "You?" he asked.

Matthews shrugged. "I was in the first Iraqi war; trained as a sharpshooter in the Army. I saw a chance and I took it," he explained without further preamble.

The captain absorbed that information as his impression of the man rose incrementally. "Well, I'm not sorry you took the fucker out," Elliott told him flatly. "If you'll come back to my cruiser, I'll get a statement from you and call your office afterward if I need any other information, okay? This is an open and shut case if I ever saw one," he added, glancing over at the two men still wrapped tightly in their embrace. "We'll need to get a statement from Mr. Taylor, too," he said to Prescott and Horvath quietly, not wanting to disturb the poignant scene playing out in front of them.

Horvath glanced over at Brian and Justin. "I'll take care of getting his statement," he assured the other man. "He needs medical attention first."

Elliott nodded. "Okay…..If you'll come with me, Mr. Matthews, we can take care of your statement, then."

"Greg….." Carl began, wanting to thank this man for saving Justin's life; he had no doubt that if Prescott had been allowed to leave, somewhere along the line he would have made good on his wish to kill Justin and himself.

Greg merely nodded, silently understanding what Carl wanted to say. "I'll be in touch in a few days." He looked over at Brian who was facing him as he continued to rock Justin in his arms. The brunet smiled at him, the gratitude obvious in his eyes as Greg smiled back at him in return and nodded before walking away with Elliott.

Carl watched as several men tentatively approached the crime scene; he needed to move Justin and Brian away so the entire place could be investigated and the coroner could be summoned to retrieve Prescott's body and do an autopsy, standard procedure in situations like this.

He walked up to Brian and whispered, "Son…..he needs to be checked out at the hospital."

"No!" Justin immediately cried as he burrowed even deeper into Brian's chest. "No hospital!"

"Shh," Brian murmured soothingly, as he nuzzled Justin's cheek. "We have to make sure you're okay." He didn't want to think about what Prescott may have subjected Justin to while he had held him captive, and the last thing he wanted was to upset his husband any further. His emotions warred with himself as he battled his desire to protect and comfort Justin with his husband's need to be checked out to make sure he was okay. "Justin….They just need to take a look at you," he whispered soothingly.

"No!" Justin told him adamantly, his eyes awash with dread at the thought. "No, Brian! No hospital – I can't! Please don't make me go!"

"Justin…..I'll take you myself and I won't leave your side," he reassured the blond, who continued to protest, his blue eyes pleading. "Please…..for me. Do it for me. I just want to make sure you're okay. I won't leave your side," he repeated. He placed both of his hands gently on the pale, tear-soaked cheeks and softly rubbed his thumbs back and forth on the soft skin. "Please, Justin – I'm asking you to trust me. I'll take you myself and I won't leave you – ever." He vowed then and there that he would never let anything else happen to this man he loved more than his own life. The guilt he continued to feel over Prescott using him to lure Justin into this ordeal would haunt him for the rest of his life, but for now, he had to think about Justin. "Please," he repeated softly as he stared into the sapphire eyes shining with shed tears of exhaustion and pain. "What do you say?"

Justin sighed softly; he knew Brian wouldn't let up until he agreed to go. Right now, the only thing he wanted to do, though, was go home to the loft and lie there in Brian's arms for hours until he could overcome the exhaustion that had overtaken his body and his spirit. "I'm so tired, Brian," he murmured.

Brian's heart broke at the look of utter defeat and exhaustion in his partner's face. An endearment he rarely used rose to the surface unbidden as he softly said, "I know, Baby. I know. But please, do it for me and then we can go home, okay?"

Justin stood there staring at his husband's eyes for a few seconds before he finally said, "Okay, but only if you take me yourself."

Brian smiled in relief. "You got it." He turned to Carl, looking just a little sheepish as he confessed, "I used a tire iron to break out your passenger window," he told him, finally revealing how he had managed to show up suddenly. "I'll take care of it, but is there any way you can hitch a ride back to the Pitts so I can I borrow your SUV to take Justin to the hospital?"

Horvath shook his head in bemusement, not all that surprised at Brian's ingenuity where his partner was concerned; he should have known better than to think he could have kept these two apart. "Yeah, sure you can," he told them. He knew the SUV Prescott used would have to be gone over for evidence, so for now it would have to remain there at the cabin. He gazed over at Justin, Brian's arm protectively wrapped around his shoulder. "You think you can walk back to the car, Justin?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah," he answered, emboldened as he gazed up at Brian, who curled his lips under in admiration for his partner's fortitude as he lightly squeezed his shoulder. "You sure, Justin?" he still couldn't help asking.

He nodded once more. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Carl nodded. "Let's go, then," he told them.

"Uh, Carl…..We'll be right behind you. There's something I need to do first, okay?"

Carl looked at him in puzzlement for a few seconds, wondering what Brian was up to, but he trusted that he wouldn't do anything to harm Justin. "Okay, but don't take too long. They need to get into the cabin and get the scene secured." He didn't mention that they also needed to have Prescott's body removed by the coroner, but he _did_ want Justin as far away from the man's body when they did, the sooner the better. The young man would no doubt have a hard enough time erasing what Prescott had subjected him to without seeing his body led away in a black, zippered bag. Although, perhaps that would have finally laid to rest any lingering doubts as to whether the man would ever be coming back.

As Carl walked away, Brian and Justin slowly followed close behind until they were just on the edge of the clearing. As they stopped, he gently turned the blond to face him. "Before we go back, Justin, there's something I need to give you," he explained, staring back at his husband with that almost shy, little-boy look that he sometimes got when he was about to do something uncharacteristically sentimental or sappy.

"What?" Justin raspily responded, still trying to regain full use of his voice. He gasped as he saw Brian lift his own left hand and begin to remove a shiny, gold band from his pinkie finger. "My wedding band! Where did you get it?" he asked in awe, tears once more rising to his eyes, but this time they were tears of joy, not pain.

Brian smiled as he lifted Justin's smaller hand and slowly slid the golden ring back into place; he held the other man's now bejeweled hand as he softly said, "The police found it at the mansion after you were gone. They let me keep it until I could return it. And I knew I would get that chance, Justin – I never stopped believing that."

He gazed into Justin's eyes as he slowly rubbed his thumb over the gleaming piece of precious metal, feeling his heart beginning to beat once more in rhythm with his husband's as his world began to turn again. He wasn't naïve enough to think that everything would be perfect now – he knew both of them had a lot of issues to work through. But as he stood there peering into the soft, blue eyes of the man he loved and saw the look of happiness slowly lighting up his face as he stared down at his hand once more displaying his wedding band, he knew somehow they would work through it together, just like they always did.

"Come on, Sunshine," Brian told him, curling his arm once more around Justin's shoulders. He stole one more secret glance at the body lying still at the cabin door before he added, "Let's get out of here."

TBC...


	13. A Comforting Ship in the Storm

_Debbie and Carl's House – Pittsburgh – Fifteen Minutes Later_

"Jennifer! Get down here!" Debbie screamed to her friend from the kitchen. "Hurry!"

Jennifer ran down the steps from Michael's old bedroom where she had been trying to grab a little sleep; she had rose up quickly in the bed at Debbie's cry, however; she hadn't actually been able to sleep no matter how much she might have needed it. Every time she closed her eyes her mind started drifting as she agonized over where her son was and what was happening to him.

As she rushed down the steps as fast as she could, her heart dropped as she noticed Debbie on the cordless phone with her back to her, standing between the kitchen and living room. Was she getting some horrible news she didn't want to hear? As Debbie turned at the sound, however, her eyes widened at the unexpectedly broad smile lighting up her friend's face. "Justin?" she asked, breathlessly, as she joined her.

Debbie nodded. "It's Carl on the phone. They found him, Jennifer, they FOUND him! He's okay! Brian's with him now." She grabbed Jennifer to give her a joyous hug; she could feel the slender blonde woman shaking slightly in relief as she heard her take in a shaky breath and sniffle.

As they broke apart she quickly put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry, Honey, I wanted to let Jennifer know right away. Where are they now?" Jennifer watched raptly as Debbie listened to Carl's answer before she nodded and said, "Okay, I'll tell her. Thanks, Carl! Thanks for calling, Honey!" She pushed the button to end their conversation and turned to Jennifer, making the sign of the cross in gratitude. "Carl said Brian convinced Justin to let him be examined at the hospital downtown – they're on their way there right now. He said Brian's cell phone was destroyed at the cabin where Prescott had been holding Justin; I'm sure they'll call as soon as they can."

Jennifer let out a thankful sigh; she was so relieved her son had been found and was safe. She couldn't help worrying though, about just what her son must have endured during his captivity with that psychopath. "Did they arrest Prescott?" she asked Debbie.

Debbie gazed at her with an unreadable expression on her face for a few seconds before she smiled tenderly and placed her hand on Jennifer's upper arm. "Why don't you go sit down on the couch and I'll get us some hot tea? I'll tell you everything I know."

Jennifer wondered exactly what Debbie was hesitating about, but nodding, she did as Debbie asked and walked over to sit down on the edge of the couch cushion. Several seconds later, Debbie walked back over, carrying a round, metal tray with two ceramic mugs filled with steaming hot water, a couple of tea bags, sugar and cream. Placing the tray down on the coffee table in front of the couch, she sat down, angling her body toward her friend's as she told her, "Prescott's dead, Jennifer. He was killed by Greg Matthews."

Jennifer gasped; she certainly hated this man by now for what he had put her son through over the past couple of years, but this was still unexpected. "He's dead?" she whispered, her eyes wide with shock.

Debbie nodded. "Yeah."

She had to know. "How?" Jennifer asked.

Debbie took a breath before divulging, "He was trying to leave with Justin and Greg apparently had no choice."

"He was trying to leave with my son? I don't understand – I mean, I'm glad he's dead; I'm not going to lie about that. But how could Greg take that chance with Prescott having Justin? Wasn't that dangerous? He could have hurt him, too."

Debbie looked Jennifer in the eyes and told her quietly, "He had no choice, Jennifer." She let out a breath; there was really no easy way to say this. "He had a gun to Sunshine's head, threatening to shoot him. He moved the gun away from him just long enough for Greg to take advantage of it and kill him, or who know what the fuck would have happened."

Jennifer's eyes filled with tears at that thought. "My God…..He would have killed my _son_?" She placed her head in her hands in disbelief; it was still too overwhelming to even contemplate, even though at least now she knew Justin was no longer being held in that man's clutches. That didn't mean that her son hadn't suffered who knows what kind of damage, both physically as well as mentally. If she didn't know that Brian was with him, she would have definitely gone out of her mind with worry over him. "How could anyone do that to my _son_, Debbie? To someone like Justin? Hasn't he been through enough in his life by now?"

Debbie reached an arm around her shoulders and leaned down to whisper to her, "I know, Baby, but he's with Brian now and that awful man is finally in Hell where he belongs. Considering what he's been through, your son is the strongest person I know, Jennifer; he will come out of this, I know it. You have to believe that. We ALL do."

Jennifer sniffled a few more times before slowly raising her watery eyes to stare into her friend's concerned ones. "I need to see him, Debbie," she whispered, needing to prove for herself that her son was at least no longer being held captive by that horrid monster.

Debbie nodded. "I know you do, and I'm sure he'll come to see you as soon as he's able. But you remember what he was like right after the bashing? Despite how much I know he loves you, and I know you love him, when that happened, there was only one person who could help him recover."

Jennifer nodded. "Brian," she whispered.

"Yes, and he's your son-in-law now. You have to give him that chance again now to help Sunshine., You know how much he loves him; let him do what he does best when it comes to Justin and take comfort in the fact that he more than anyone will be there to help your son heal."

Jennifer took a ragged breath before nodding. "I know you're right." She sighed. "I'll wait a little longer." She knew, however, that if her son or Brian didn't contact her by tomorrow morning, she would still have to seek them out; she couldn't stand waiting any longer to see or at least talk to her son. But for now, she would take Debbie's advice and hope that Brian could once more work his magic on her son the way that only he could.

Debbie nodded. "I think that's best." She took a deep breath then, knowing that what she was about to tell Jennifer wouldn't be pleasant. But Carl hadn't held back from her on what Justin had endured and she owed her friend - and Justin's mother - the same awful courtesy. "Now I'll tell you what else I know," she whispered as she reached to take her hand.

* * *

_Same Time – Just Outside Pittsburgh_

For what must have been the hundredth time, Brian stole a glance over at his husband. In a way, he still couldn't quite believe that Justin was actually sitting there in the passenger seat, finally back where he belonged and away from that insane monster. But as Justin thankfully managed to doze for a while, Brian knew it had to be true because he could feel the familiar, warm, soft hand of his husband as he held it firmly whle it lay between the two seats. He had found that as soon as they had entered the SUV, he just couldn't let it go and Justin certainly hadn't complained; in fact, he had almost taken his hand in a death grip at first until the knowledge that he was out of Prescott's hands at last had sunk in and sheer exhaustion had forced his eyes to slowly close in slumber.

The broken passenger window made the vehicle rather noisy as the night air rushed in while they drove toward the hospital; even if they had wanted to have a conversation regarding Justin's ordeal, it would have pretty much been impossible at the moment. Brian had the distinct impression anyway that his husband didn't really want to discuss exactly what had happened, although he knew they would have to talk about it. He had learned enough before to know that in order for Justin to heal from this latest horror, he would have to unfortunately relive it in a way; at the very least, he would have to talk about it in detail.

Brian feared what Justin would tell him; he already knew some of the horrible details from what evidence the police had found at the old mansion, but he had no way of knowing what else might have occurred once he had been dragged away from him by one of Prescott's goons. He knew one thing, though; whatever had happened, it was no way Justin's fault and he would gladly endure listening to whatever his husband needed to tell him. He only hoped for two things: that Justin would be willing to talk to either him or a professional about what had happened, and that Prescott, even in his psychopathic craziness, had somehow continued to use a condom. Just the thought of that man touching his partner intimately made his skin crawl and the knuckles on his driving hand turn white with rage.

Brian's eyes filled with unexpected tears and a hard lump formed in his throat as he thought about what that man must have done to his husband. In a way, he was sorry that Greg had killed Prescott; he had wanted that pleasure himself to somehow help temper the unsatisfied fury he still felt toward that man. Shooting him and allowing the man to die almost instantly had been too humane for him; if had been given the chance, it would have experienced a much more slow and painful death. Now, not only had he been deprived of that satisfaction, he now had to live with the oppressive guilt of having been the instrument of what terror Justin must have experienced with his kidnapper. Even though rationally Brian knew he couldn't be blamed for what had happened, it still didn't help curb the gnawing feeling of responsibility he felt over being the unwitting lure that caused Justin to be taken in the first place. It seemed that they would both have to relive this nightmare for some time to come.

As if on cue, Brian sucked in a breath as he felt Justin's hand gripping him again like a vise as he heard the blond start to mumble something in his sleep; from the partially moonlit sky and the increasing amount of city lights visible as they neared the city limits, he could see Justin's head thrashing from side to side and his body trembling. He knew all too well what they meant as he quickly looked for a spot to slow the vehicle down and come to a complete stop. Fortunately, at the moment they were on a two-lane back road on the outskirts of town and he was able to veer the vehicle over to the shoulder just in time to hear Justin's voice rising in terror.

"No!" he shouted in his sleep as his head continued to jerk back and forth. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" He breath began to come out in raspy, rapid pants as he continued to squeeze Brian's hand tightly.

"Justin!" Brian commanded firmly but quietly; he didn't want to freak his husband out by startling him, but he _had_ to rouse him quickly. He couldn't handle Justin reliving the terror again that he had felt at the hands of Prescott. "Wake up, Justin! It's just a dream, Sunshine!" he tried to tell him.

As Justin continued to moan and cry out, Brian was thankful for the bucket seats in Carl's older SUV, because it permitted the luxury of quickly scooting over toward Justin's side of the vehicle. It took quite a bit of effort to pull his hand free from Justin's, but at last the blond released the death grip he had on his hand and that allowed him to quickly pull the blond into his arms and embrace him in a hopeful cocoon of reassurance.

"Shh," he murmured soothingly. "Wake up, Justin; you're having a bad dream." He rubbed comforting circles on Justin's shoulder with one hand while he tried to pull him closer toward his own body. Justin, however, began to try and pull away, not yet aware who was holding him.

"No! Let me GO!" he screamed. "I HATE you!" He began to struggle violently in Brian's arms, feeling like there was a band of steel holding him captive.

Brian began to panic slightly as his heart constricted at the pain radiating from the blond's voice. "Justin!" he called even louder as he took one of his hands and placed it on his husband's cheek; he cupped the familiar face and slowly turned it toward him. "Wake UP! It's Brian! He's gone! You're safe now! Come on, Justin! Open your eyes!"

Suddenly, Justin gasped and his eyes flew open. His face was momentarily full of terror until he glanced up into the worried hazel eyes of the man he loved. "Br…..Brian?"

Once again the word he never in his lifetime thought he would ever use spilled almost involuntarily from his lips but somehow it seemed right; maybe it was the look of absolute despair and pain on Justin's face at the moment and the need for him to offer comfort to the man he loved so deeply. "Yeah, Baby, it's me. You're safe. He's never going to hurt you again. You're were just having a nightmare, that's all."

As Justin finally nodded and uttered a soft sigh as he leaned into his embrace, Brian hugged him even tighter to his own body, closing his eyes in gratitude that at least they were together again. It wasn't only Justin that needed this reassurance; his body as well as his soul needed it desperately, too. He hadn't realized until that moment just how urgently he HAD needed it. Now, though, as he cooed soft words of comfort and held the still-trembling body in his arms, he once more felt the familiar feeling of how perfectly their bodies molded together and smelled the unique, captivating smell that only his lover had, and he realized just much his need had been, too.

"Justin," he simply breathed out softly as he nuzzled his head on top of the blond hair. As he briefly closed his eyes to relish having this man in his arms again, the wind that had been rushing inside the vehicle while they had been traveling was replaced now with only the sounds of crickets chirping in the still, temperately-warm night air and the soft, now steadier pants of Justin breathing as he slowly regained normal rhythm and his body eventually stopped trembling in fear.

They stayed that way for several minutes, neither one saying anything aloud until Brian heard Justin exhale one long rush of breath and begin to move slightly. He loosened their embrace enough to pull back and gaze into the blue, exhausted eyes. "Doing a little better now?" It seemed like an almost ludicrous statement in light of what Justin had just gone through, but he really couldn't think of a better way to phrase his question.

Justin's soft blue eyes gazed back into the worried hazel ones for a few seconds until he sighed once more and whispered, "I guess….at least as well as I can be."

Brian nodded understandingly as Justin asked, "Where are we?" He glanced over his shoulder to notice several streetlights and highway overhead lamps shining; he could also make out some building lights in the distance.

"We're on Hwy. 28 just north of the city," he told him softly. "We're about ten minutes away from the hospital." Brian could already see what Justin was going to say next, just by gazing at his face and feeling his body stiffen slightly.

"Brian, do I really need to go?"

The sad look on Justin's face almost broke his heart, but he knew what his answer had to be. "Justin, I know you hate it - I fucking hate it too - but you know it has to be done."

"But why, Brian? He's dead," he whispered, flinching at the recollection. He couldn't quite say he wasn't relieved Lane was dead, but still - the man had been shot dead while he was holding him in his grip; even now, he could almost still feel the exact moment when the man had jerked at the bullet's impact and he had slumped to the ground, lifeless and still.

"Justin?" Brian whispered worriedly. Justin shook himself out of the painful memory and glanced up at Brian, shaking his head slightly to let him know he was all right.

"Justin," he began again. "Yes, he's dead but that doesn't get rid of the injuries he inflicted on you. You still need to be checked out; besides, Carl only let me take you away from there with the promise that I would have you looked at. Otherwise, the police would have had to take you, and I know you didn't want that." Truth be told, neither did he; he couldn't imagine some stranger being in charge of taking his husband to be examined by an unfamiliar doctor after he had been…..he couldn't even say the word aloud, but just the thought of it made him realize he had to ask Justin one more question; a question that he almost couldn't bear to ask but knew he must. "Sunshine," he began softly, not able to look Justin in the eyes for fear what he would find.

"Yes?" Justin asked, confused about Brian's hesitation and his sudden inability to look at him.

"About what he did to you…." He sucked in his breath, steeling himself for whatever answer Justin would give him. "They collected evidence at that old house you and I were being held out after the two of you left. That's where they found your ring."

Justin looked down at the shining, gold band now firmly back where it belonged and smiled slightly in relief to see that it was, indeed, really there. He had never thought he would ever see his ring again, let alone Brian. "I'm glad you found it and kept it safe until I could wear it again," he told his husband softly, reaching over to clasp Brian's hand. The brunet's fingers curled protectively and lovingly around the slender hand almost automatically in response as Justin waited for his husband to continue.

Brian was quiet for a few more seconds, building up his courage to ask what he knew he had to. "Justin…..Carl told me they found…they found a condom upstairs in the bedroom." He heard Justin take a shaky, ragged breath as he abruptly tried to remove himself from Brian's embrace, but Brian would not permit it. This man was not going _anywhere_. "Justin, please, it's okay…..God, I know you didn't want to, you know that!" His heart almost broke as he heard Justin sniffle; turning to gaze into the sapphire-blue eyes, he was dismayed to see tears there. "That's not why I mentioned it. I know you love me and you would not be unfaithful to me. God, Justin! The man _kidnapped_ you!"

Justin took another breath and sniffled, trying to suppress the tears from falling. "I didn't want you to know," he whispered in shame. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Brian couldn't believe that Justin was worried about HIM being hurt of all things. "Justin….you're my _husband!_ I LOVE you! I needed to know so I could help you! Do you know I've been out of my mind with worry ever since you've been gone? Please, Justin…..I don't want you to keep anything from me. If we learned anything from what we've been through before, it's that we're strongest when we're _together. _Don't shut me out, Sunshine."

Justin sucked in a shuttering breath and sniffled once more as he allowed Brian to gather him again into a comforting embrace, as tight as he possibly could in an attempt to somehow shut out all the evil in the world. Just once, Brian silently prayed that all the terrible things and people in the world would leave them alone, but they didn't live in Never-Never Land; they lived in a world that could be cruel, horrible, and inhuman. But if they had each other, somehow he knew one day their world would turn right once again. First, though, they had to walk through fire once more to get there. "Justin, please, I have to know….did he…?"

Somehow Justin knew what Brian was so painfully struggling to ask. "No, Brian," he whispered, his voice barely audible even in the stillness permeating the night as he spoke against the brunet's chest. "He fucked me twice, but both times he used a condom. I don't think he wanted to, but I was able to talk him into it. That's all he did, I swear." He laughed derisively. "He bought me some pajamas, though; wasn't that thoughtful of him?"

Brian closed his eyes as relief washed over him. Yes, he was being partly selfish; he was so fucking thankful, if that was the right word to use with scum like this monster, that the man had at least used protection when he had assaulted his husband, but most of all he was grateful that Justin hadn't been exposed to fuck-knows-what types of diseases. That still didn't mean his partner wouldn't have to be subjected to being examined at the hospital and no doubt having all sorts of tests being run. But at least he could be relatively sure that Justin hadn't been irreparably harmed, at least physically. Emotionally and mentally, however, may be a different matter. He realized that sort of healing was going to take much longer, but he wasn't going to let Justin go through it alone.

"I'm glad, Justin," he softly replied. "So fucking glad." He hugged the blond even tighter, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to comfort and reassure him. "And I'm glad you told me; I'm just sorry I had to ask."

He could feel Justin nodding his head silently for a few seconds before he whispered, "I guess I'm glad I told you, too." He turned his head to stare up into Brian's eyes before he added, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Brian felt his heart threaten to shatter again at the plaintive sound of his husband's voice as he whispered back, "I don't either, Sunshine, and I never plan to." At that moment, with Justin looking back at him so vulnerable and bare, he wanted so badly to try and kiss his sorrows away. But as much as he ached to kiss him, he was also afraid. He reached down to brush his thumb across the full, cranberry-colored lips that he knew so well, had kissed so many times by now he had lost count long ago. How would Justin react to one more? As if by some unforeseen magnetic pull, he lowered his head closer to his target, trying to gauge what Justin's reaction would be. He was worried that Justin's ordeal would make him pull away, or flinch in reaction, but to his relief he watched as Justin moved closer to him in unspoken invitation.

The burden on his heart lifted just a bit when he heard Justin almost desperately whisper, "Kiss me, Brian. I need you." Justin reached up to cup Brian's cheek and caress it, sighing as he recognized the familiar touch of his husband's face, the face he had constantly dreamed about for the last few days and the one thing that had kept him sane and grounded during his traumatic ordeal. He reached his hand around Brian's neck in an unspoken plea as he pulled Brian's face closer.

Brian paused just long enough to gaze into Justin's eyes to make sure he really did want him to kiss him; he had a flash of another time so long ago now in that parking garage right after the two of them had danced. They had ended their one, glorious dance on the auditorium's wooden floor in front of hundreds of gaping, gawking guests with a passionate kiss, but as they had prepared to depart for the night, a feeling of almost shyness mixed with tenderness had unexpectedly wound its way into his heart and he could remember hesitating, almost asking permission, before the two of them had kissed goodnight again. Now, he almost felt that same way as he slowly moved toward the slightly parted lips, seeking confirmation that this was what Justin really wanted.

Slowly, tentatively at first, their lips touched and despite his reservations, Brian found himself lost in the sensation of finally being reunited with Justin. He moaned in pent-up desire as he softly sought permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss, unsure what his partner's reaction would be or if he even had the right to ask. His heart seemed to actually stop for a few seconds until to his great relief, Justin's mouth opened in a silent invitation as it welcomed him in.

Now it was Justin who moaned at the contact as he wound his hand more firmly around Brian's neck and pulled their mouths together even possibly tighter; there was an odd sense of desperation this time in their kiss as he angled his head to deepen it even further, almost as if he were trying to pull Brian inside him as their tongues reacquainted themselves with each other's sweetness.

It was several seconds before they reluctantly broke slightly apart; both were panting heavily with the effort as they gazed once more into each other's eyes. "Justin," Brian whispered almost reverently as he gazed into his lover's eyes and softly feathered the golden hair at the back of his neck. "I love you." Funny how at that moment, that statement seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to say; all those years, he had fought for some reason against saying it too frequently, even after that fateful bombing at Babylon. Now he wanted nothing more than to tell this man those three words every day for the rest of their lives. He didn't care any more _how _fucking lesbionic it sounded.

Justin smiled slightly; it didn't quite reach his eyes, and it certainly wasn't one of his trademark radiant ones, but it was a start. "I love you, too," he whispered, reaching up to brush some hair out of Brian's eyes; his fingers brushed lightly across Brian's face as he stared intently at him, almost as if he were reacquainting himself with the view again after being lost in the desert without any water. "I wasn't sure I would ever see you again," he admitted, his eyes beginning to water again with the threat of new tears.

"Shh," Brian shushed him, shaking his head. "That is never going to happen. I won't let it." He didn't voice aloud that if somehow it _had_, he would have been irrevocably lost without him. Justin already knew that, anyway, without him having to say it. Justin sighed as he savored Brian's touch, voice, and smell before he finally lowered his gaze to lay his head against Brian's chest and place his arms around his husband's back, pulling Brian even closer to him.

Brian had been so afraid after what Justin had just been through that he would shy away from even his touch; he was enormously relieved, then, to find out he had been worried unnecessarily as he continued to hold Justin in his arms, his head nuzzling the top of Justin's in a silent reassurance that he really _was_ back where he belonged. He wasn't fooling himself into thinking they weren't going to have problems still – no one could have gone through what Justin just had experienced without that happening – but he was so glad that Justin was allowing him to provide comfort and a healing touch for him; for _both_ of them.

They stayed together for a couple of minutes longer, communicating without words but saying so much, until finally Brian knew they couldn't put off the next part of their journey any longer. He sighed softly before whispering against Justin's hair, "We should probably get going, okay?" The sooner they took care of Justin being examined at the hospital, he sooner he could take him home to their loft and hopefully begin the healing process for them both.

Justin inhaled a little more normal breath now and finally whispered, "Okay." He still didn't want to go to the hospital, but he also knew that Brian would insist until he did. It was better then to just get the dreaded task over with so the two of them could finally go home. _Home_…..that was a word he wasn't sure he would ever say again, but he was so relieved that he could.

Brian pulled back just enough to look into Justin's eyes and nod at him before reluctantly releasing him; he took just long enough to use his right hand to turn the key's ignition, turn the motor back on and put the vehicle back into gear before he reached once more for Justin's hand; he just couldn't let it go just yet. He indulged in looking at his partner one more time and smiling at him in reassurance before slowly they once more entered the highway and drove toward the main part of downtown.

_

* * *

_

Same Time – Alleghany National Forest

Greg opened up the passenger door of the cruiser after finishing his statement for Elliot; he observed Carl standing a few feet away and walked over to join him.

"Done with your statement?" he asked the prosecutor, who nodded. He watched as the coroner's van slowly pulled out of the parking lot on its way up to the cabin where Prescott lay dead. "It's been a hell of a couple of days, hasn't it?" he said in a vast understatement. If he lived to be a hundred, he never wanted to relive what had just happened. At least now he could finally return to Debbie and not worry about having to tell her that one of her "sons" wasn't coming home again. The relief in her voice was obvious as he had told her the astounding news, although it had been immediately tempered by the rest of what he had been forced to tell her. Which reminded him….

"Greg, that was a pretty risky thing you did, getting off a shot at Prescott. But I'm glad you did it now."

"Yeah, I guess at the time it was. But you know what Elliot told me? The fucker's gun wasn't even _loaded_. He was bluffing the entire time. Can you believe that? Turns out he couldn't have shot Justin or anyone else, even if he had wanted to."

"You are shitting me," Carl said in disbelief, shaking his head. Somehow, though, that made sense; a man as crazy as Prescott had become would have been just the type of person to try and pull something like that off, knowing he couldn't have reciprocated even if someone had shot at him. He knew, though, that as long as he had used Justin as a shield and no one knew about the gun, they wouldn't dare risk hurting his captive. Thank God, then, that Greg had seen an opening and had taken advantage of it. "In a way, I guess that doesn't exactly surprise me," Carl observed. "At any rate, it doesn't matter – no one knew it wasn't loaded and you just did what everyone else wanted to do. I'm just glad it didn't wind up being Brian – he didn't need that added burden on top of everything else."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, I think he's feeling pretty guilty about what happened, even though he shouldn't. Prescott may have been a psychopath, but he was a very clever one. No one could have seen this coming."

"No," Carl agreed. "But guilt is a really tricky thing; just because intellectually you might recognize you're not at fault, that doesn't mean you still don't feel responsible, and I know Brian must be feeling that way right now. I only hope he and Justin will get the help they both need. They have each other, though – that will be a big help. Those two boys love each other a lot – that's how they got through everything else before."

Matthews replied firmly, "Yeah, they do. And that might just make all the difference. At least this time they know both Prescott and his brother will never be coming back."

Carl nodded back at him in full agreement. "I'm hitching a ride with one of the State boys back into town; want a lift?" As Greg nodded, the two men walked companionably toward the cruiser, both knowing they would be back in touch soon to wrap up this case for once and for all.

_

* * *

_

Fifteen Minutes Later – Allegheny General Hospital Emergency Room

Justin held onto Brian's hand tightly as he endured yet another poking and prodding from the emergency room doctor in charge. He had already allowed them to collect a blood and urine specimen earlier for analysis purposes and was now being subjected to the most humiliating part of all – lying on his stomach as the doctor stuck a lighted instrument inside him to check him for any internal injuries that may have occurred. This was after he had already been subjected to a previous external examination of his cock and balls for the same thing. His head turned to the side to look at Brian; he concentrated on focusing on his partner's handsome but worried face as the man tried to conduct his necessary examination as gently but thoroughly as possible. He shivered slightly, mainly out of cold from having merely a thin, paper sheet covering his upper torso at the moment, but also from the effort to try and block out of his mind what had happened with Prescott. As his body shook slightly again, he felt Brian's hand squeezing him silently in support and he smiled slightly back at him in gratitude, thankful once more that his partner was at his side, just like he promised he would be.

He was thankful as well to learn upon arriving that Carl had taken it upon himself to call his contact at the hospital and notify them they would be coming; upon advising the registration desk of their names, the two had been taken immediately inside and whisked into a completely private, enclosed room where the examination was to be conducted and the lab work collected. It had made this unpleasant but necessary chore just a little more bearable, and everyone had seem quite understanding over what had happened, but it still didn't make it that much less painful, either physically or emotionally. The only part that did make it more tolerable to Justin was being able to look into his husband's eyes and feel his strong, warm hand grasping his as the doctor worked on finishing his job.

Just then, he felt the cold, hard metal scope being slowly pulled from his body as he winced slightly in pain; despite Prescott having used a condom and making at least a rudimentary attempt to prepare him beforehand, the two assaults had still left him with a certain amount of burning and stiffness afterward. He tried not to show too outwardly the effect it had had, mainly for Brian's sake, however; he already knew the irrational, displaced guilt Brian must be feeling over what had happened and he didn't want to add to his burden.

The doctor sat up from his hunched position and proceeded to pull of his latex gloves as he stated, "You can get dressed now, Mr. Taylor," the man, who had identified himself as Dr. Burton Keller, told him. "We should have the results of your lab work back sometime tomorrow. I had the lab put a rush on them for you."

As Justin turned over and sat up, Brian handed him his briefs and jeans for him to put on. As he pulled his legs through the clothing, he turned anxiously to the doctor to ask the question both men so desperately wanted to know. "Did you find anything, Doctor?"

Now partially clothed, Brian helped Justin down from the examination table as the blond somewhat gingerly sat down next to his partner in the other hard plastic chair; even though he tried not to show it, Brian couldn't help noticing Justin wincing slightly again as he slowly sat down and they both anxiously faced the doctor, who was sitting across from them in a round, wheeled silver stool with a black leather seat.

The doctor's initial professional-looking countenance finally changed into something appearing more relaxed as Brian's heart began to beat again in a hopeful cadence. "I noticed some slight redness internally, but nothing too serious. And if the circumstances are as you described – and I'm sure they are," he assured Justin, making sure he emphasized to him that he believed his version of the story, which had been backed up by the police evidence, anyway, "then I don't foresee any lasting physical effects from your ordeal. Of course, I'll have to wait for the blood work to make sure everything else is negative, but I'm hopeful that will be the case."

Justin let out a huge rush of breath he had been holding as Brian reached to squeeze his hand in response. At that moment, it wasn't clear just which man was the most relieved as the doctor stood up and hurriedly scribbled something down on a prescription pad. "I'm going to prescribe an antibiotic for you mainly as a precaution. And we'll be in touch with the results of your lab work." As if sensing what both men were dying to ask but were both too reticent to mention, the doctor gazed at them sympathetically before quietly adding, "If the results come back the way I anticipate, you can resume your normal sexual activity. But I would still recommend you wait at least a few days until your discomfort lessens. And I think it goes without saying, Mr. Taylor, that I think you should definitely consider psychological counseling to help you heal emotionally from what happened to you."

Justin nodded silently, his thoughts a swirl of emotions at the moment. He was tremendously relieved by the doctor's examination results, but also petrified at the thought of having to discuss what had happened with a virtual stranger, even a professional counselor. Something told him Brian would insist, though, but for now, he was content in the knowledge that this part of his slow return to normalcy was over and he and Brian could at last go home to their loft.

The doctor walked over to the two men as Brian slowly helped Justin stand up. He shook both men's hands, telling Justin, "Good luck to you, Son; I wish you the best," before turning to open the door and exit, leaving the partners alone with their thoughts.

Brian's almost stoic demeanor disappeared as his shoulders sagged in relief and he turned to sweep Justin up into his arms; Justin leaned into his embrace as he, too, wrapped his arms around his husband and held on for dear life. "Everything's going to be okay, Sunshine," Brian whispered, not sure if he was trying to convince Justin or himself. "I'm so fucking glad."

He disengaged enough to gaze down into the soft blue eyes now full of relief that at least there had been no apparent permanent physical injuries.

"Brian….I really want to go home now. With you."

Brian nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Let's go, then." He thought fleetingly of calling Jennifer and Debbie to let them know the astounding news of Justin's release, but he also knew that Carl no doubt would have already done that. He made a silent note to call Jennifer tomorrow but for now, there were much more important matters to take care of. Taking Justin's hand, he slowly led his husband out of the room and toward the hospital's front entrance to begin their journey back to Lawrenceville and back to the rest of their lives.

* * *

_A/N: To be continued - at least one more chapter. Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to one of my most faithful readers and reviewers, as well as my "secret" unsung beta who always seems to locate my boo-boos after I post a chapter, even after I could swear I didn't have any - LOL! A special thank you to boriqua522 - you're awesome, my friend! And at this time of year, I'd like to say a special thank you to everyone who continues to read and review my stories - I hope you will continue to enjoy them for a long time to come. My brain's already abuzz with another idea for a new story but it will have to wait a while until I can end some of these other ones - LOL! Hope everyone has a great New Year!_


	14. More Than Enough

_Blackbird Loft – Lawrenceville_

The ride back from the hospital to their loft had been, luckily, an uneventful one; to Brian's relief, the encouraging news they had received from the emergency room doctor had apparently eased Justin's anxiety enough for his husband to catch a little more rest on the way home. Justin had fallen asleep almost from the first moment they had entered the SUV, leaning his body against Brian's on the bucket seat and placing his head on Brian's shoulder as his eyes drifted shut. He curled in tighter against the brunet as Brian wound his arm protectively around the slight shoulders that inexplicably appeared even more slender than they had ever before.

As he slowed the vehicle to enter the parking lot behind their building, he hated to have to wake Justin up, but he knew he didn't have a choice; at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to gently take him back into the loft and never, ever let him out of his sight. He knew that wasn't realistic, but he _did_ know that he would find it terribly difficult going forward to ever trust anyone around Justin again. If it was possible, he silently despised Prescott even more for the power the man yielded even now after his death; despite his wish not to, he knew that it might take the rest of their lives before either one of them felt comfortable enough not to constantly be looking over their shoulders every time they were out in public anywhere.

He sighed softly as he pulled Carl's SUV up to one of their assigned parking spaces and came to a stop. His suspicion that Justin had simply been dozing lightly was confirmed as he felt his partner's body shifting away from him slightly and he noticed the blond's eyes fluttering open as soon as the vehicle's engine was turned off. "Brian?" he asked somewhat tentatively, his eyes temporarily flashing with a little fright as he sat up straighter and tried to get his bearings.

Brian's heart broke at the uneasy look on Justin's face as he whispered reassuringly, "It's okay, Justin. We're back at the loft now." He watched as his husband's face relaxed somewhat as he nodded in understanding.

Brian smiled over at him tenderly, trying to reassure him as he reached to squeeze his hand briefly before unlatching the seatbelt and rising out of the vehicle; Justin remained in his seat while Brian walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. The blond scooted over toward the door somewhat stiffly and slowly arose from the vehicle as Brian again reached to grasp his hand; he curled his fingers over the slender ones as Justin accepted his touch. He didn't know how long he would feel this need to simply touch Justin, but for now, he couldn't get enough of the reassurance he needed that Justin was, indeed, back where he belonged and out of that monster's grip. He was also relieved that Justin wasn't rejecting his touch; even more than the thought of what that psychopath had done to his husband, he had been even more afraid that Justin would shrink from any gesture, even his own. He was more grateful than he could ever express that Justin hadn't done that, because his husband wasn't the only one in need of their touch; Brian needed it, too.

They walked slowly, hand-in-hand, toward the back entrance door. As they stopped for Brian to place the key in the lock, he felt Justin's arm silently slide around his waist. Brian's eyes inexplicably filled with tears over the gesture; he wasn't quite sure why he found himself tearing up – it was just a simple, typical action of Justin's when they were together. But perhaps that was what made him so emotional; in some ways they were back to normal, but in a lot of _other_ ways, they weren't, and he imagined it would be a long time before they were.

As he unlocked the door and pocketed his keys, he placed his own arm around his partner's waist as well. "Come on, Sunshine," he encouraged him softly, leaning down to whisper in his ear as he opened the door and the two of them walked into the familiar surroundings of their loft. "We're home now."

As they walked down the hallway toward the front foyer, Justin stopped to turn and gaze into his first-floor studio; his latest painting still sat right where he had left it a few days ago, waiting for him to come back and finish it. He felt a lump form in his throat at the thought that he might never feel like ever painting again; just the idea of returning to the vibrant, colorful painting that he had started recently before his ordeal filled him with repulsion. After what he had just been through, painting something happy and promising seemed far removed from his current, dark thoughts.

"Justin?" Lost in contemplation, he started a little at Brian's voice as he felt his husband's hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath before turning to gaze into Brian's concerned eyes. "You all right?"

If not for Brian's look of extreme anxiousness, Justin would have actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of his question. Was he all right – no, he _wasn't _all right, and maybe he _never would _be all right. But one look at Brian's tortured face and he knew he couldn't add to his pain. He finally said softly, "I just want to go lie down."

Brian studied his husband's face carefully; he knew there was more to what Justin wanted to say, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was push him. "Okay," he said nodding. "Let's go upstairs." He gently took Justin's hand and led him toward the stairs as Justin slowly followed behind him, still sore and stiff from the last couple days.

As they reached the upstairs landing to their living area, Brian turned to look into Justin's eyes searchingly, trying to determine if his partner needed anything else that he wasn't mentioning. Perhaps he wanted to wash the stench of that horrible man from his body as well as his mind. "Would you like to go take a shower? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything else? How about some of your pain medication?"

Justin closed his eyes, not sure if he was more mentally exhausted or physically. He shook his head; all he wanted to do right now was retreat into his bedroom, bury himself in the familiar feel and smell of his and Brian's sanctuary and maybe never get up ever again. "Nothing," he verified softly, his voice detached and weary.

Brian stood there, feeling helpless as to how to help Justin; in the car, his husband had reached for him, had allowed him to hold him and kiss him. Now it was as if he was retreating into a lonely shell, one that did not seem very welcoming toward him. He was torn between wanting to give Justin space, and desperately needing to reassure both of them that, one day, they would somehow be okay again. He _did_ know one thing: there was no way he would let Justin go through this alone; he _couldn't_.

He nodded. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But you still need to take some of your antibiotics. I'll go get you one and some water." He stared at Justin for a few seconds before his partner nodded in resigned agreement and turned to slowly walk over to the bedroom door and enter.

Brian watched him go with hooded, worried eyes; it was as if two different men had been with him this afternoon; both were scarred terribly, but the one that had entered the loft was somehow pulling away from him. He felt the feelings of tremendous guilt once more washing over him for his unfortunate part in this whole nightmare as he turned finally to go gather the medication and glass of water. _Justin….I'm not going to give up on us, _was his silent oath.

A few minutes later, after making sure their door was securely locked and his phone was turned off so they wouldn't be disturbed, he walked back over to the bedroom to stand quietly in the doorway and gaze at Justin curled on his side in bed on top of the covers; he had removed his shirt but had kept his pants on. Brian's heart broke a little at how vulnerable Justin looked. His husband was so slender and petite but in bed he had always seemed larger than life to him. Now, though, as he gazed at his partner lying there with his back away from him, he thought he had never appeared smaller.

Taking a breath and softly letting it out, he walked around to the other side of the bed, observing Justin was still awake, his eyes not really focused on anything. He was simply staring toward the farthest wall where two tall, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the neighborhood streets. Apart from the loft's tall ceilings, it was about the only other feature of this loft that reminded Brian of their old one. When he had purchased this loft for the two of them, it had been one of the things he had liked about it; yet it was different enough from his old loft that it felt like the two of them were making a fresh start together. Now, however, it almost felt like the walls he liked so much were closing in on them.

Justin slowly gazed up at his husband who was standing next to him near the bed. Despite his own feelings of emotional pain, the tortured look of regret and remorse on Brian's face was more than he could bear. Did Brian actually think he blamed him for what happened? And what would he doing to them by pushing Brian away? _No, Prescott, _he decided, _you won't have that power over us….._

He reached out his hand toward _Brian_. "Brian….come here."

Brian gazed into Justin's eyes as the blond extended his hand to him. He wanted desperately to know what Justin was thinking behind those haunted-looking eyes, but he wanted even more to touch him again. He placed the glass of water and vial of pills down on the nightstand and, taking a couple of steps, reached to clasp Justin's hand in his as he gingerly sat down on the bed next to him. He couldn't take his eyes off the vision lying before him; it was a scene he hadn't been sure he would ever see again, and now, here he was, back where he belonged but not quite the same – not quite whole, at least not yet. But he was still his Justin...still the man he loved more than life itself.

"You need to rest, Justin," Brian chided him gently as he idly rubbed the pale flesh of his partner's hand with his thumb. He gazed into the thoughtful blue eyes that were staring intently at him, so deep and mesmerizing in their scrutinizing intensity.

Justin shook his head slightly in refusal. "Would you…?" he started to ask. His voice was soft and tenuous as he looked into his husband's eyes; he briefly wondered when talking to each other had become so stilted and uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he had felt like he had to tread lightly when it came to speaking to Brian; they had passed that point of miscommunication and non-communication a long time ago. He briefly thought of the irony that oddly enough, the man who had been inadvertently responsible for forging a closer bond between them before was the same man who was now threatening to tear it asunder.

"What?" Brian asked softly, continuing to caress his husband's hand. "Anything." The response Justin gave him made Brian's heart break a little more in its almost plaintive quality, but he also felt a small leap of encouragement at the same time.

"Would you…..hold me?"

At that moment, Brian couldn't think of anything else he would rather do or anywhere else he would rather be. "God, Justin….you don't have to ask me that," he murmured tenderly in disbelief. He watched Justin silently acknowledge his reply by scooting over farther into the bed to accommodate him. He didn't even consider undressing; he knew having sex was the last thing on Justin's mind at the moment, and oddly enough, it was the same for him. Right now, all he wanted to do was hold this man and never let him go.

He slowly lay down next to his partner as he faced him, drinking in the sight of him, smelling his achingly-familiar scent, and finally, with a reaching out of his hand to lightly brush the hair away from the blond's eyes, touching him. He watched as Justin's eyes fluttered closed at his touch; it was as if his partner was reassuring himself that they were, indeed, together again and it was not a dream, much like Brian was doing, also.

Justin sighed. "Hold me, Brian." was the whispered plea; he held one hand out almost blindly as Brian quickly grasped it and pulled his own body closer until their noses were touching. He leaned his forehead against Justin's before slowly pulling the more slender body into his arms, firmly but gently wrapping his arms around Justin's back. He could feel his husband trembling as he began to lightly stroke his upper body up and down. Justin placed his left hand on Brian's chest as he stared at his wedding ring reflecting off the city lights below and felt the rapidly-beating heart beneath his palm. He could feel the heat of Brian's skin under the shirt as the brunet continued to caress his back soothingly. Finally convinced that he was not dreaming but was finally where he needed and wanted to be, he laid his head against Brian's chest and sighed softly as he nuzzled closer against the other man's body.

"Justin…" Brian whispered, not sure what he was trying to say; it didn't really matter, though, because he was finding he had lost the capacity to say anything else as he placed his own chin on top of Justin's mop of blond hair. The thought of finally being together again after two days of hell was almost overwhelming to him; so many times, even though he had steadfastly refused to give up, thoughts of what his partner was going through had crashed through his head, making him almost immobilized with fear as well as guilt. He had almost thought it was fate's way of telling him he didn't deserve this incredible man, but here he was, lying in his arms, warm, breathing, and oh-so-sweetly familiar. He sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating, unique scent that only his husband had.

They remained silently holding each other for several minutes, each needing to reassure themselves that this was not a cruel illusion; that at last they were both where they belonged and needed to be. It was only when Brian could eventually hear his husband's soft, rhythmic breathing against his chest, indicating that he was asleep, that he allowed himself to fall into a fitful slumber of his own.

* * *

_The Next Morning - Blackbird Loft_

The stiffness in Brian's shoulders was the only thing that slowly made his body rise from sleep into semi-consciousness; he had been lying all night in the same position, on his side facing Justin, cradling him firmly in his arms as if he were afraid his husband would disappear if he let go of him. His heart began beating faster, though, as he slowly came to and realized Justin was still there and still sleeping soundly.

After what Justin must have been through, it was a miracle that somehow he had slept through the night without waking up shuddering, thrashing, or crying out in a nightmare; Brian had been witness to so many of them after Prescott had begun to stalk his husband last year that he had expected the same this time. He wasn't sure if it was due to Justin knowing the man was dead once and for all, or if he had been reassured because Brian was holding onto him as if he would never let go, but for whatever reason, Brian was grateful as he took a few moments to cherish who he was holding in his arms.

Finally, though, he had to bite back a groan of discomfort as he reluctantly began to slowly, gingerly disentangle himself from his husband. By going almost excruciatingly slow, he was able to eventually, gently extricate himself from his embrace and place Justin's head on his own pillow. He stretched his arms above his head in an attempt to alleviate some of the rigidity in his arms but he wasn't really complaining; it was a small price to pay for having his husband home again. He reached over and ever so lightly placed his hand against Justin's cheek, feeling the warmth below his fingers as he took a deep, reassuring breath of relief. He watched as Justin leaned momentarily into his touch in his sleep before Brian grudgingly removed it slowly and the blond snuggled deeper into the pillow as if he were trying to breath in his husband's scent, also.

Before he got out of bed to use the bathroom – finally feeling like he could take a few brief minutes to relieve himself and take a shower – he indulged in a few more moments of gazing at the vision lying on his side. He wanted to reach out and touch Justin some more – he knew it was pretty silly in a way – but he held back, not wanting to disturb him anymore for now; he knew Justin needed to recover from his ordeal. Once more his guilt rose to the surface, fighting to overcome his feelings of relief as he thought about what Justin must have been through the past few days. "I'm so sorry, Sunshine," he whispered barely audibly. "So fucking sorry."

Tears of regret in his eyes, he slowly rose from the bed and, glancing once more at his husband, made sure he was still sleeping peacefully before he turned and exited the room.

_

* * *

_

Fifteen Minutes Later

Emerging as quickly as he could from the shower dressed in a casual, black, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of well-worn blue jeans, Brian quietly walked down the hallway to the master bedroom, peering inside to make sure Justin was still sleeping. He knew Justin had to have been as exhausted as he had been these past couple of days; it was only when he could finally hold him in his arms last night that he had surrendered to his extreme fatigue and allowed himself to close his eyes and rest. He was thankful that somehow, despite everything that had happened, Justin was still allowing himself to do the same.

As he turned to enter their living area, he heard a soft knock on the front door. Worried as well as just a little irritated that Justin would be disturbed, he hurried down the steps as quickly as he could and rushed out into the foyer toward the entrance. Opening the door, he discovered Jennifer standing there.

His initial aggravation instantly melted as Brian took one look at Jennifer's tearful face and gave his mother-in-law a tender, slight smile; she wordlessly fell into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his back briefly for a tight hug. Releasing her, Brian walked out onto the front stoop and closed the door softly behind him to advise her, "He's sleeping right now." He wasn't all that surprised to see Justin's mother at their front door, even though he had been hoping it could have been delayed just a bit longer before Justin had to face her. He wasn't sure if his partner needed to deal with her emotional state as well as his own at the present time, but he could certainly understand why she had to be there. Actually, he was somewhat surprised she had been able to wait as long as she had.

Jennifer gazed up into her son-in-law's weary-looking face. "How is he?" she asked softly as she looked at her son-in-law. It seemed that she wasn't the only one who was carrying around a boatload of guilt presently as she noted the tormented expression in his eyes and the worry lines etched on his face.

Brian restlessly brushed his hand through his hair as he sighed. "I'm not even sure where to start with that question, Jennifer. He was able to sleep through the night; that's something, I guess. We really didn't talk a whole lot on the way home last night. I figure when he's ready to talk we will; the doctor at the hospital told him to make sure he gets as much rest as he can for the next few days, and I intend to make sure that he does." Brian was thankful that he was not only the owner of his own agency, but he also had some very capable, trustworthy employees working for him. He was planning on taking full advantage of that fact for the next several days until he could be assured that Justin was beginning to heal physically. Emotionally, however...that could very well be a much longer process….

At the mention of the doctor, Jennifer's face clouded over in pain; Debbie had told her as gently as possible last night about what Prescott had done to her son, at least what Carl had known. She almost couldn't bear to ask Brian, but she _had_ to know. "Brian…..About what the doctor said." She took a deep breath. She was about to tell Brian the awful truth – that she knew at least partially what that monster had done to her son - but Brian interrupted her before she had the chance.

Brian knew what they had to talk about was best not discussed on his and Justin's front door stoop, but he also wanted Justin to sleep as long as he was able to. Making up his mind after a few seconds, he finally turned to open the door and said, "Come on in – I'll make us some coffee. But I don't want Justin to hear."

She nodded, anxious in a way to know exactly what had happened to her son, and yet almost unable to bear hearing the truth. The two of them silently walked into the foyer and crept up the steps to the living room area; Brian held his hand out mutely to indicate she should sit down on the couch as he said in a hushed voice, "I'll be right back." She did as he asked, sitting on the edge of the couch and wringing her hands as he waited for her son-in-law to fetch the coffee.

A few minutes and several worrisome scenarios later, Jennifer held her hand out to accept the beige stoneware cup Brian brought over to her; he joined her on the couch as he took a calming sip from his own cup before beginning. What he was about to say to her was going to be hard for both of them, but as Justin's mother, she had a right to know. And he knew from personal experience that this woman was a lot stronger than she looked, just like her son; she was going to need that strength now.

"Jennifer….This may be difficult for you to hear, but I think you need to know what happened to Justin while that man was holding him." He hardly could get the word _man_ out of his mouth, though; somehow, using that word made Prescott sound like a human being; no one who had done what he had done, not only to Justin but also to his own brother as well as to that guard, could be considered _human_.

"Brian….." Jennifer struggled to get the words out; when Debbie had told her last night about what had happened to her son, she had fallen apart in anguish as well as guilt. Now, it was like she was reliving it all over again, and she was afraid that somehow she only knew part of what happened; Brian's look of distress on his own face indicated that there was more to it than what she knew, as horrible as it was. "Debbie told me something Carl had said to her. About…about what Prescott….had done to Justin."

Brian placed his coffee mug down on the table and took her hand in his; he could feel Jennifer trembling slightly and her eyes tearing over as she struggled to maintain her composure. As gently as he could, he asked, "What did she tell you, Jennifer?" He reached to take her own shaky coffee cup away from her and place it next to his as he looked into her eyes. "What did you hear?" God, how he hated to have this conversation; not only for her sake but for his own as well. Just the thought of having to talk about what Justin had gone through and the part he had to play in it, made the guilt once more wash over like some sort of black, choking curtain of blame.

Jennifer sputtered, her voice choked with torment, "She…..she told me that Carl had said that Justin…..oh, my God, Brian! She told me he had been raped!" As she looked into the tortured eyes of her son-in-law, her heart sank even lower and the tears began to fall freely; she knew without him saying a word that it was terribly, undoubtedly, irrevocably true. She buried her hands in her face then and began to softly cry, her shoulders shaking in heartbreak for her son _and _for the man who loved him perhaps even more deeply than _she_ did.

Brian's own eyes filled with tears as he reached to pull her into his arms; she was so tiny in his embrace as she continued to almost silently sob into his shirt, her hands still covering her eyes as if she was trying somehow to block out the truth of what had happened. Brian allowed her to continue crying against him for a few minutes until he could hear her sobs abating; he slowly pulled her away from him then to reach for a box of tissues sitting on the coffee table and wordlessly hand them to her as she took a shuddering breath. "I'm…I'm sorry," she whispered at last. "It's just….."

"I know," Brian said softly, his hands clenched tightly against his legs as he sat next to her. "I know. And I'm sorry, too." _Sorry for you AND for Justin….so fucking sorry….._

She took a deep breath to steel herself. "Brian," she whispered, looking into his troubled eyes. "I have to know. Did…..Did anything else happen to him after they left that house?"

Her heart dropped as she watched Brian avert his eyes; that was answer enough. "What?" she said.

Brian sighed as he finally returned her gaze. "It…..it was twice, Jennifer," he finally managed to say in a broken voice.

"Oh, my God!" she cried out softly, closing her eyes in pain. "My baby…..Justin….."

"I know, Jennifer," Brian said, placing his hand on her back to rub it soothingly. "I know." He snorted in disgust. "At least the fucker apparently used a condom, though, from what Justin told me. Very gallant of him," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's all my fault!" she cried out in remorse and despair, shaking her head in condemnation. "If only I hadn't sold him that house…"

"Come on, Jennifer!" Brian instantly berated her. "There was _no way_ you could have possibly known who was buying that house! You cannot blame yourself for what happened. If he hadn't found that house, he would have found another one! The man was a psychopath. He was determined to get to Justin however he could – you're not to blame for him being totally obsessed with him. Stop beating yourself up over it, okay?"

"And what about _you_, Brian?" she whispered to him, countering. "Aren't you doing the same thing?" She noticed her son-in-law looking away from her and knew she had come too close to the truth. "You couldn't control what happened, either. The man had you _drugged_. How is that your fault, either?"

Brian let out a painful breath as he insisted, "I….should have known he wouldn't give up on getting to Justin, even from jail. Look how determined he was before. I let my guard down and now Justin's suffering for it."

"Brian, that's not true!" she firmly whispered to him, her eyes flashing. "You did everything in your power to protect him! If it hadn't been for you, Justin might never have been found when he was kidnapped before. And he might never have been found _now_! It was your idea with the cell phone that found him! Don't do this, Brian – Justin's suffered enough at that man's hands; don't add to his or your own suffering by trying to place the blame on yourself; do you hear me?" She placed her hands on either side of Brian's face and forced his tortured eyes to meet hers. "I don't know what Justin would do without you," she assured him softly. "He needs you, especially now. Don't fall apart right when he does – and don't you dare blame yourself for this, do you understand?"

Brian stared into the sorrow-filled but determined eyes of his mother-in-law for a few seconds before he silently nodded, his eyes shining with his own unshed tears. "I'll try, Jennifer. I'll try. But it seems we _both_ need to follow that advice. I'll try if _you_ will."

Jennifer twisted her mouth at Brian in mute aknowledgement and looked tenderly at her son-in-law as she said, "Okay. I guess that's fair. Laying a guilt trip on either one of us isn't going to change what happened, no matter _how_ much we might want it to." She sighed. "What else did the doctor say about him, Brian? Is he going to be all right? At least physically?" She knew that as painful as it was to think about, her son was no doubt going to need much longer before emotionally he would be well again.

Brian felt somewhat embarrassed having to talk about this in front of Justin's mother for some reason, but he knew he had to. "The doctor examined him last night and said except for some slight bruising, he didn't see any permanent damage that had been done. He gave him a prescription for an antibiotic and took some blood for testing, but he didn't see any problems that a few days' of rest wouldn't take care of; physically, that is anyway."

Jennifer nodded sadly, wiping her tears with one of the tissues from the box she was holding tightly in her hand. "How _did_ he seem last night, Brian? Emotionally, I mean." She knew only too well what had happened to her son after the bashing; back then, only Brian could help him recover, and like Debbie had said, she knew it would be the same now – if he could ever fully recover from what had been done to him. If _any_ of them could…

He once more brushed his hand restlessly through his hair. "Well, he really hasn't wanted to talk much about it, and I haven't pushed him. And we were both so tired last night. But….he hasn't shrunk away from letting me touch him, though. He…..He wanted me to hold him last night, Jennifer. I think that's a good sign, don't you?" He wasn't sure if he was asking for her sake or for his.

Jennifer nodded, at least somewhat encouraged by that bit of news. "Yes," she said softly. "I do. I imagine lot of people in his situation wouldn't want to be touched." She paused briefly before adding, "I remember how he was before. You were the only one who could help him, Brian. I'm counting on you being able to do that again now. You think you can?"

Brian released Jennifer to stand up; he leaned his head back to try and stretch the tight muscles in his neck for a few seconds before straightening back up and sighing. "I…hope so, Jennifer. I hope so. I know I won't give up until I know he's okay. I can't. I…love him too damn much."

She sighed as she stood up and nodded, undecided about what to do; she really wanted to see her son but she also knew how much he needed to rest and heal. "I…..I'd like to see him, Brian. To tell him how much I love him, too, and that I know he'll get through this. But I know as long as you're with him, you'll take good care of him. I don't want to wake him up, not if he's able to get some sleep right now." Like Brian had said, she found it a miracle that he could even sleep at all, but she suspected that before too long her son would be awake if he discovered Brian wasn't there with him.

"But I would like to just take a peek at him first before I go," she answered softly with a hint of embarrassment; she knew her son was a grown man now; God knows he had certainly endured his share of adult trials and tribulations – _more_ than his share. But she was still his mother, and to her, he would still be her little boy.

Brian twisted his mouth slightly in amusement but he understood. Nodding, he held his hand out to indicate she should lead as Jennifer turned to quietly walk down the hallway toward their bedroom and stop at the entranceway. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at her son; his tousled head rested on the pillow with his hand curled under his chin as he lay on his side. His mouth was slightly open and his face appeared to be frowning slightly. She briefly worried that he may be dreaming of what had just happened, and she wanted so badly to walk over and kiss his forehead and brush his hair back from his face to comfort him just as she did when he was little. But if Justin was finally sleeping, she didn't want to risk waking him, and besides, he now had a husband who loved him and was more than capable of providing the emotional support and comfort he would no doubt be needing for some time to come.

Eyes misting over again, she turned away from the vulnerable-looking sight and walked a few steps back out into the hall with Brian to whisper as softly as she could, "Will you tell him I was here and I'll be back to see him soon? And tell him how much I love him, will you?"

Brian nodded as he gazed back at her affectionately; he briefly contemplated how his life might have turned out differently if _he_ had had the type of mother that this woman was; surely his childhood would have been much brighter and happier than it had been, but then again, perhaps if he hadn't grown up the way he had, he might not have ever met the incredible man who had wound up being his soulmate.

As they walked toward the stairs, he told her, "I will, Jennifer. And I'll have him call you later, okay?" He knew had badly Jennifer wanted to speak with him, but he suspected it was not going to be a pleasant conversation for either of them. He felt it would be less awkward, though, than talking about his ordeal face-to-face, and perhaps in a way it might also be cathartic for Justin.

He intended to escort Jennifer down the stairs to the front door, but she turned and told him, "I'll show my own way out, Brian. I'd rather you stay up here in case he needs you." He nodded and placed a quick kiss on her cheek while he gently grasped her upper arms; she gazed at him tenderly as they shared a mutual look of comraderie for the man they both loved but in different ways before she turned and began to walk down the steps to leave.

Brian watched her slender form disappear below for a few seconds before he became aware of Justin talking, apparently still in his sleep, and hurried back to the master bedroom.

"No!" he could hear Justin crying out as his legs tangled in the lightweight sheet on the bed and his body twisted from side to side. "Don't touch me! I _love_ him, don't you understand? Leave me alone‼"

Brian rushed into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Reaching toward Justin and grasping the thrashing body's upper arms, he spoke softly but urgently to his partner. "Justin! Wake up‼ You're having another bad dream! Wake up, Sunshine!" he gently shook Justin's shoulders in a fervent effort to wake the blond up but Justin continued to struggle against him, his legs trying to kick Brian away.

"Justin!" Brian called out more determinedly. "Come on, Justin – wake UP!" He was at a loss as to how to wake his husband up as Justin paid his voice no heed and persistently continued to rebel against him, crying out as if he were being bound somehow. Finally in a stroke of desperation and unable to bear watching any longer, Brian lay on top of Justin's body and pinned him down on the mattress, trying to wake him up and still his frantic movements.

At the feel of Brian's body against his, however, the terror of what he had experienced with Lane came back to him instantly, roiling inside him like some sort of dark, angry waves as Justin immediately bucked his body off the bed, throwing Brian off and promptly heaving him onto the floor. As a stunned Brian slowly sat back up from his place on the hard, wooden surface, Justin abruptly woke up gasping for breath, his chest taking in great gulps and his eyes wide with terror as he tried to get his bearings.

Brian cursed himself for his stupidity; how could he have thought that was a good idea? Rising to stand up, he immediately locked his worried hazel eyes onto Justin's wide-open, frightened ones and rushed over to the bed. "Justin…..It's just me. You were having a bad dream. I…..I'm so sorry, Justin. I was just trying to wake you up. You're safe now; he's gone. God, I'm sorry." He shook his head, furious with himself, as he lowered his body onto the bed and sat awkwardly next to his husband. How did it come to this? How did they go from being so deeply in love and two parts of a kindred soul to having to walk on eggshells around each other? And would they ever be the same again? _Could_ they be? Damn that monster for doing this to us – to _him_…

Justin swallowed hard as he struggled for his breathing to return to normal; he realized now where he was and who had been lying on top of him; it wasn't Lane, coming back to assault him again and he wasn't back in that secluded cabin; no, it was Brian, trying desperately to wake him up from a hideous nightmare. He was in his loft bedroom in Lawrenceville, back where he belonged and back with the man he loved deeply and completely. He knew he was safe now, and he remembered that Prescott was finally dead. He only wished that that was enough to reassure him that something like this would never happen again. As he looked at Brian, so horrified over what he had done, his eyes filled with tears of both sympathy as well as shame – sympathy for what his partner must be feeling, and shame over pushing him away.

Brian was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his head lowered as he looked down, too disgusted to look Justin directly in the eyes. He felt a rustle on the bed and movement before a familiar, warm hand reached to cup his jaw and force him to turn his face and look into the soft, blue eyes.

"Brian," Justin whispered softly, tenderly, his heart breaking at the look on Brian's face. It wasn't a look he was used to seeing on the handsome visage; normally, it was Brian holding HIM up. "I'm okay," he told his husband, trying to sound more sure than he actually felt but realizing how important it was. He tried to force a small smile of reassurance on his face but was finding it hard to do it convincingly. "It was just a dream. I'm all right." He lightly rubbed Brian's cheek with his fingers, stroking them over the slightly stubbled face.

Brian closed his eyes in agony; he didn't deserve Justin's sympathy; it had been his fault that Justin was having to go through this in the first place, despite what he had told Jennifer earlier. He sucked in a shaky breath, relishing Justin's tender touch but at the same time hating himself for what he had made his soulmate go through because of him.

Justin eye's misted over; he knew exactly what Brian was doing to himself and it just made his own pain worse. "Brian," he whispered. "Don't do this to yourself; to us _both_. Don't let him have that power over us."

Brian opened his eyes and stared at him. "What? Not blame myself for what that monster did to you? Not punish myself for leading you straight to him? Not regret for the rest of my life leaving you alone where he could get his hands on you again?" He laughed at the irony. "I didn't learn my lesson very well the first time, did I?" He shook his head in disgust, his face contorted in self-scorn.

Justin pursed his lips tightly, trying to keep his own tears from falling as he pulled away from Brian's face to grasp his hand instead, somewhat surprised to feel the normally confident man's hand shaking. He squeezed it tightly, gripping it as if it were a lifeline while he tried somehow to convince Brian he didn't blame him.

"Brian, look at me…._Look at me_," he said louder when Brian didn't obey initially. He finally saw the brunet raise his eyes reluctantly and stare into his. "I'm not going to let you do this, Brian. It was no one's fault, unless it was mine for trying to give him the benefit of the doubt for so long and not believing he was obsessed with me from the start. No, let me finish," he insisted as Brian started to open his mouth, undoubtedly to blame himself again or at the very least tell him that he was being ridiculous for even suggesting he had any part in this whole sordid ordeal. "No one is responsible for what happened except him. _We're _the victims here, and now we're left to pick up the pieces." Brian to avert his eyes again but Justin wouldn't let him; his partner's pain was quickly infusing his own spirit with conviction. "I am NOT going to let that man win, Brian; are you?"

Brian thought about that. Was he? Was that what he was doing by placing blame on himself? Letting Prescott win? Despite the horror that he had endured, that was what Justin seemed to think. Justin didn't blame him; could he gift himself with that same grace? "It's…..it's not that easy, Justin," he finally admitted softly, feeling his partner slowly rubbing circles on top of his hand as he spoke. "I wish I could just make it go away, but I can't."

Justin gazed into his tortured eyes. "Well, I wish I could, too, Brian, but I can't – neither one of us can. But I DO know I'm not about to blame YOU for what happened to me." He gazed at the sorrow-filled eyes intently, saying flatly, "I _need _you, Brian. I _need_ my husband. I _need_ my soulmate. I _need_ my best friend. Don't take him away from me, not when I need him the most."

Brian hadn't thought of it that way. It still didn't totally assuage the guilt that was presently lying oppressively in his gut, but Justin was right – they didn't need the added burden of his guilt weighing them down like a smothering, emotional blanket. They needed each other. It was the only way they always persevered, no matter what happened to them. It had been that way all along, and it would be that now. Without Justin, he was nothing; and without him, Justin wasn't the same, either. They were two halves of a whole. He turned his hand over to gently clasp his husband's and finally nod. "I won't, Sunshine...I won't," he repeated softly but more firmly. "It's time we show that fucker that he didn't break us then, and he won't break us now."

Justin smiled back at him tenderly in relief. That sounded much more like the Brian Kinney he knew – confident, assertive, and determined. Just as he had done that night when Brian had made love to him after the bashing, he sat up and scooted over on the bed to place his hand on Brian's chest, feeling the sure, rhythmic beating beneath the shirt. He leaned in closer to stare into Brian's eyes briefly before he stretched up to touch his lips tentatively to his; the touch was as sweet, passionate, and wonderful as it had always been; as it would always be. "Brian," Justin whispered as he pulled back, unable to prevent the words from flowing out of his lips, not that he would have wanted to, anyway. "I love you."

Brian didn't even try to avoid the tracks of tears that were now flowing down his face as he reached to cup Justin's cheek in his hand and whisper, "I love you, too." Their lips joined once more for a tender kiss before it deepened further into its familiar tangle of passion.

As they broke apart several seconds later, Brian nudged Justin's forehead with his own and took a deep breath. He placed his hand around Justin's neck to anchor him there just a little longer before reluctantly pulling back a little to gaze into his eyes. As badly as he wanted to show Justin just how much he deeply loved him at that moment, he also knew neither one of them was ready for that yet. But he vowed that one day soon, they both _would_ be. For now, though, this was enough - _more_ than enough.

* * *

_TBC - At least one more chapter...:)_


	15. Two Halves of a Whole

_Next Day – Blackbird Loft _

Justin slowly opened his eyes as he heard Brian talking softly, apparently on his cell phone. He was relieved that _this_ time when he woke up, he at least realized where he was and he wasn't afraid he was back in that cabin again. He had awakened once through the night – he wasn't really sure why – and at first his pulse raced as he tried to get his bearings. But after a few seconds, as he focused on the warm hands securely fastening him against the familiar body of his husband and inhaled Brian's comforting smell, it had reassured him that he was lying in his partner's arms and, soothed, he had managed to drift back off to sleep for the rest of the night.

He could tell it was barely after 7:00 a.m. by the angle of the light shining in through the large windows below; the abundant light that always radiated in through his studio first had been one of the features of the loft he had loved the most. Now, however, painting was the last thing he felt like doing. Perhaps one day that would change, but for now he just couldn't imagine picking up his paintbrush and acting like nothing had happened to him - to them.

Normally by now, Brian would be up and in the shower, getting ready for work. He slowly sat up in bed and twisted his body around to place his feet on the cold, wooden floor. He groaned as a dull pain shot through his body; his ass was still sore from not only what Prescott had done to him, but also from the emergency room doctor's examination of him. According to the doctor, it would take a few days before the discomfort was gone completely; as he slowly rose to his feet, he supposed he should be grateful that his condition wasn't more serious, but it was hard at the moment to feel "grateful" in light of what had happened; he _was_ thankful, though, for having a man like Brian to support him and to love him.

As he stiffly shuffled toward the bathroom, he tried to concentrate on just that fact rather than reliving the past events of the last few days. Last night, he had made a point of telling Brian that he wasn't going to let Prescott take over their lives and prevent them from moving forward, and he had meant it. The two of them had worked too hard to attain what they had, and he wasn't about to let it go - ever. It was time, then, to prove that he meant what he had said _and_ to reiterate to the man he loved that he was in no way responsible for what had happened.

He pulled open a nearby drawer and retrieved some clean briefs and a pair of sweats before walking into the bathroom. Placing the clothes down on the top of the double-sink vanity, he began to gingerly disrobe, using his hand on the vanity's edge for leverage. He started to place the soiled clothes in the hamper but stopped. Opening up the bottom of the vanity, he balled up the clothing and firmly crammed the briefs and pants in the waste basket. Those clothes reminded him of something terrible, something vile, something he never wanted to waste another second thinking about. He knew that was probably unrealistic; perhaps it was more symbolic than anything. But as he threw the pants and briefs in the container and closed the door, he thought he felt his burden lifting just a bit.

Standing back up, he was startled by the stranger staring back at him unexpectedly in the mirror; the man looking back at him was sunken-eyed, pale, and drawn. It was a face he didn't even recognize; how did he get to look so tired and forlorn? Sighing, he reached to turn the shower on and after waiting a few seconds to allow it to warm up, he stepped inside.

The stream of hot water felt so good on his skin, almost like it was washing away the pain and misery of the past few days. He stayed under the steady deluge for several minutes, simply basking in the secure knowledge that Prescott was finally gone from his life – the constant, dull fear in the back of his mind that Prescott would haunt him until he died, the fear that he had kept even from Brian, was slowly being replaced instead with the realization that finally, the two of them could move forward now without being afraid. He spent the next several minutes carefully scrubbing every particle of his body as he worked on cleansing both his skin and his mind.

* * *

"No, I won't be coming in today," Brian told his assistant. "It's a long story, Cynthia; trust me. I'll be in as soon as I can. I'll have my cell turned on if you need me but only if you or Ted can't handle it. Reschedule everything you can, okay?" He brushed some hair back away from his face as he waited for her response.

"Thanks, Cynthia," he replied gratefully a few seconds later. "I appreciate this more than you know." He figured his heartfelt statement was probably causing his assistant's eyebrows to rise in puzzlement – Brian seldom expressed his appreciation for her in words but rather than in deeds – but he wasn't concerned with that at the moment. His main concern was the man that was currently lying in their bed, still recuperating from his ordeal of the past few days.

He briefly wondered how long the news of what had happened to Justin could be kept from the media; the story regarding Prescott's escape from prison, the cold-blooded murder of his twin brother and the prison guard, had been all over the state-wide news for the past several days; somehow, miraculously, the additional details of Justin being kidnapped and his horrible experience at the hands of that monster had been kept from public disclosure, thanks no doubt in large part to both Carl's and Greg's influence. He prayed that somehow that would remain the case, since Prescott was now dead and burning in hell. Justin's road to full recovery was going to be difficult enough without it being splattered all over the tabloids and news outlets.

Justin had awakened once during the night as he had held him in his arms; he could feel the second it happened since he had only been sleeping fitfully while he half-listened for any signs that his husband was once more reliving what had happened. He had heard a soft whimper and a slight jolt in the slight body clasped in his before he immediately tightened his hold on Justin, immediately whispering in his ear that it was okay, that he was with him. He had been enormously relieved when instead of fighting him, Justin had quickly realized where he was and had soon drifted back into sleep after snuggling further into his back, secure in the knowledge that the man he loved was holding tightly onto him like he would never let him go.

Deciding he'd better go check on him, Brian quietly flipped his phone shut and went in search of his husband. Stopping to look inside the bedroom, he was somewhat surprised to find that Justin wasn't still in the bed, but then he heard the soft sound of running water telling him that his husband was apparently taking a shower.

Any other time, he would have seen that as an open invitation to join him for some good, old-fashioned fucking as they often did in the mornings, but he knew that was not going to happen today; maybe for some time to come. Undecided what to do, he ultimately sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for Justin to emerge from the adjoining bathroom.

After several minutes had passed, he was about to go in to check on him to make sure he was all right when he finally heard the water slowly being turned off. He looked over at the door anxiously until eventually he heard the knob being turned and his husband emerging from the steamy room. Justin had one of their navy-blue towels wrapped around his slender waist and a smaller one slung over his shoulder, his still-wet hair sticking out at various angles; his chest was sprinkled with beads of water from the shower. Despite his somewhat tired appearance, Brian thought he had never looked more beautiful.

Brian's eyes locked on his from the moment he entered the room; he ventured a small smile of reassurance at his husband's appearance. "Hey," he said softly as Justin slowly walked up to him carrying his clothes. He held out his hand to him, his heart warming as Justin reached out unhesitatingly to clasp it firmly in his.

"Hey yourself," the blond responded softly. He seemed to pause for a moment before taking his place beside Brian's on the bed. "I heard you talking to someone earlier – is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I was just talking to Cynthia to tell her I wouldn't be in for a few days."

Justin sighed softly. "Brian, you don't have to babysit me. I'll be fine. I don't want you to not go into work because of me."

Brian softly rubbed his hand over the smaller one as he stared into the familiar blue eyes. "Justin, no arguments," he said firmly. "I'm doing this because I want to. They can take care of things for a few days while I'm gone; that's what cell phones are for." Before Justin could continue his protest, he added softly, "You're more important right now….okay?" He detached his hand to reach up and cup the pale cheek and caress it as he studied the face he knew so well. Justin's face seemed a little less drawn than it did last night, no doubt due in part to the additional sleep he had finally gotten and also the hot shower he had just taken. But the eyes were still missing the sparkle he was used to seeing, and the smile…...God, how he missed that smile. He wanted so badly to see that again. He was going to do everything in his power to make that wish a reality.

Justin's soft blue eyes gazed back at him in wonder for this incredible partner he had; he knew enough not to argue with the look in those determined hazel eyes. He noticed as he stared into Brian's face that his wasn't the only one that looked haunted at the moment. Perhaps this was Brian's way of not only helping him to heal, but himself as well. "Okay," he finally agreed simply, reaching up to place his own hand over Brian's for a moment before they brought their clasped hands back down to the bed. He took a few seconds to study the "Beloved" pewter bracelet that was once more firmly surrounding Brian's wrist; he had given it to Brian as a wedding present a year ago in Mykonos and Brian had sworn he would never take it off; except for that one horrible day, he had kept his promise. Justin knew, though, that he never would have taken it off voluntarily. He hoped that there would never be a reason again for his partner to have to remove it...

Brian nodded in relief as Justin turned his attention back to the handsome, bronze face. "Good…..I always feel so powerful when I win an argument with you," he joked teasingly, getting a slight smile in response. Certainly not the one he was looking for, but it was a start….

He squeezed Justin's hand slightly before releasing it to remove the hand towel from Justin's shoulder and begin gently rubbing his hair to dry it; he noticed Justin's eyes watching him intently as he asked, "I know this is normally an absurd question, but do you feel like eating something?" Usually, the problem was getting Justin to _stop_ eating, not getting him to start. He was rewarded once more with a slight smile at his attempt for a little levity as he finished his ministrations and placed the damp towel on the ground.

"I'm not really hungry right now, Brian," Justin told him. It was the truth; his stomach was still queasy for some reason. He wasn't sure if it was the cascade of emotions that were still churning inside him or if it was a shifting of his priorities. For whatever reason, the normal enticement that food would bring just didn't hold the same attraction at the moment.

"Justin, you have to eat _something. _You can't take your medicine on an empty stomach – you'll just puke it back up later." If there was one thing Brian was determined to do, in addition to helping Justin heal (both mentally and physically), it was making sure his husband took his medication. The last thing he wanted was for Justin to suffer any additional problems at the hands of that monster. "How about at least eating some toast?" he suggested finally.

Justin really didn't have an appetite, oddly enough, but as he looked into the concerned, loving eyes of his partner, he knew he couldn't say no. He finally nodded mutely, noticing Brian smiling back at him in satisfaction over his minor victory.

"Why don't you finish getting dressed and I'll go fix it, then?" He gave Justin's hand one last squeeze before standing up to walk back out of the room and towards the kitchen, leaving Justin temporarily with his own thoughts.

Justin slowly removed the towel from his waist in the silence of their bedroom, trying hard not to think about where he had been only a day ago. This was so far removed from being in that cabin with Prescott, wondering every hour when or if he would ever see Brian again. Wondering what the next day, hell, what the next _hour_ would hold for him while he was in the captive possession of that man. He had had no doubt that if Prescott had had his way, he would have been whisked away toward Canada and their so-called marriage ceremony. He almost had to laugh at the absurdity – being subjected to a "marriage" with that man would have been a joke compared to what his _real_ wedding had been like. His and Brian's wedding in Vermont had been between just the two of them, a small, intimate confession of their love for each other, following by a wondrous honeymoon in Mykonos.

He clung to those memories as he tried hard now to erase from his mind the dirty, tainted image of another man who had had the same misdirected intentions toward him. He was so thankful that he had not been forced to participate in something so wrong, so horrible. Nothing would ever compare to what he and Brian had shared during their own wedding and honeymoon, and nothing ever would. He glanced down at his wedding band and lovingly ran his finger along the metal, reassuring himself that he was right where he wanted to be, where he _needed _to be.

He knew in a way it was wrong, but he was so glad that Prescott was dead. The man could no longer doggedly pursue him, and no longer occupy his every fear that one day he would again return, just like some relentless storm of insanity. As he placed the towel down on the floor temporarily, he slowly, rather stiffly, pulled his briefs and then his sweats up his legs, again flinching slightly from the dull ache that still resonated from his body. It was a little better since he had showered, however; he was hopeful that soon it would be gone completely, along with the horrible memories that had induced it in the first place.

Disposing of the damp towels in the bathroom's hamper, he padded out from the bedroom and toward the kitchen, stopping for a moment to observe Brian as he reached up to take a couple of white, ceramic plates down from one of the top cupboards. Brian was dressed in his standard, off-work clothing: a pair of well-loved, worn jeans, the top button undone as usual, and a long-sleeved, black tee shirt with the two top buttons loosened. Justin couldn't help admiring the lean, toned physique as Brian turned to notice him standing nearby and smile at him tenderly. Justin returned the smile with a slight one of his own as he slowly shuffled into the kitchen and sat down at the modest-sized, rectangular wooden table. He observed Brian pouring coffee into a couple of matching stoneware mugs and loading his up with sugar as he carried them over to the table and set them down next to Justin's bottle of pills. Hurrying back over to retrieve the buttered wheat toast, he brought the plates over along with a small glass of orange juice and finally joined him at the table.

Justin couldn't help smiling a little at the scene of domestic housewifery, thinking how much their lives had changed over the years. When he had first met Brian, it wouldn't have been unusual for his husband to drink his coffee straight out of the carafe, depending, of course, on how high he still was from the night before. Or at best, he might grab a glass of juice and wolf it down before rushing over to the diner to pick at a piece of dry wheat toast and an egg white before proceeding on to work. But since they had moved to Lawrenceville, Brian had surprisingly learned to actually enjoy cooking an occasional meal for them, so this small endeavor of domesticity wasn't all that unusual anymore. It still didn't keep from affecting him, however, through the ways that Brian tried to take care of him.

"Thanks," Justin told him softly as he looked over at his partner.

Brian could tell that that one simple word wasn't just meant to thank him for the light breakfast; he knew Justin meant much more than that. He twisted his mouth tenderly as he gazed back into the soft blue eyes. "Anytime," he said just as simply.

Justin nodded silently as he picked up the piece of toast and took a bite. He still wasn't really hungry, but for Brian, he would eat it anyway…..

_

* * *

_

Thirty Minutes Later

Brian's cell phone ringing jolted both men slightly at the unexpected intrusion; they had moved to the living room to finish their coffee as Brian reached over to grab the phone and flip it open. "Kinney."

The brunet looked over at Justin before replying, "Yes, he's here. Just a minute." He leaned over to give Justin the phone before saying, "It's the hospital calling." He noticed Justin exhale a shaky breath and his hand trembling a little before he reached over to take the phone from Brian.

Justin took another breath before speaking. "This is Justin Taylor."

Brian watched Justin's face intently for signs of what the hospital was telling him. Undoubtedly they were calling with his test results. _Please, let him be okay_, he silently prayed as he watched Justin's face anxiously. After a few seconds, he saw a slight relaxing of the pale features and his heart began to start beating again. It was just a minute change, but it was enough to tell him what he hopefully needed to know.

"Okay. Yes, I understand," Justin said softly. "Thank you for calling." He slowly snapped the phone shut before raising his eyes to gaze into his partner's.

"Justin?"

"They got my test results back," he said softly. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them to stare into the worried hazel ones.

"Justin! What did they say?"

Justin's lips slowly turned into another smile; this one, though, was perhaps just a little brighter than the ones before. "They were all negative." Such simple words, but words that meant the world to both of them.

Brian let out an audible whoosh of breath in relief as he scooted over to gather Justin in his arms. "I'm so glad, Justin, so fucking glad." _For both of them….._ He held his husband tightly, marveling once more at the exhilarating feeling he got just by holding this man. It was the same feeling he had noticed from the first moment he had held him so many years before, and he knew it would always be that way.

He heard Justin breathe out a small sigh himself as they slowly broke apart a few minutes later to gaze into each other's eyes. Brian studied every pore of Justin's face, every eyelash, every angle, every curve of the lips he knew and loved so well. He watched the blue eyes peer into his just before Justin's gaze lowered to stare at his lips and he leaned in closer; Brian eagerly met his lips halfway as they came together in a kiss. It was gentle at first but soon turned into a more desperate, probing touch as this time Justin's tongue came out to lightly brush across his partner's mouth and Brian's heart sang at the gesture as he willingly open his lips to allow access. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slender back to pull him flush against his own body as their desire escalated to a familiar refrain of longing, want, and need.

For the next several minutes, the only sound heard was the soft exhales of breath from their noses as their mouths quickly re-familiarized themselves with each other's taste, their feel, their smell…..their love. Brian's hand came up to cradle the back of Justin's head firmly but tenderly as he turned his head to press even harder into Justin's mouth; he heard the blond gasp slightly and pulled back in alarm, only to see an imaginary dam burst on Justin's face as he plunged back in almost desperately in return.

At last, the two broke apart to stare into each other's eyes. "Justin….." Brian breathed out almost in prayer. "I….." he began, not quite sure what he was even going to say; his heart was beating rapidly at the emotions coursing through his body, the thrill, the euphoric feeling of having this man in his arms again after he had almost lost him. He was like a precious bird in a way – so beautiful, so fragile-like in some ways, but also so courageous and strong in so many others….maybe even stronger than he was himself.

Justin placed his fingers against Brian's lips and shook his head slightly. He began to rain light kisses down the side of Brian's face as his fingertips began a trail of exquisite torture down his shoulders before he felt one of Justin's hands snaking inside him shirt to feel his heart pounding against his palm.

Brian eyes closed in enraptured contentment as he felt the familiar feel of Justin's lips on his face and his soft, gentle hands on his chest as he began to diligently work at the buttons of Brian's shirt. The brunet opened his eyes in surprise, however, as he felt a cold wetness on his skin. "Justin?"

He reached down to cradle his partner's head and force him to meet his gaze; the blue eyes staring back at him were bright with tears. "What is it? The tests _were_ negative, weren't they?" _Please, God…..No…. _His heart tightened in fear before to his enormous relief, Justin nodded his head yes. "Then what is it, Sunshine?"

Justin's breath caught in his throat as he stared into the eyes of the man he loved; he gripped the sides of Brian's shirt and clenched them in his hands as he stuttered back, "Brian….Lane…..He, he told me he would hurt you. He said if I didn't do what he wanted…He, he would kill you."

"Justin….." Brian thought his heart would break at the look of pain on his husband's face. Once more, he actually wished Prescott was still alive somewhere so he could rip each arm and leg off the man, bit by tortuous bit, until he could stomp every last breath from the man's body. But the man was unequivocally dead and not ever coming back; and right now, someone else needed his attention much more. "Shh," he said soothingly, brushing his thumbs back and forth across the soft flesh of Justin's cheeks. "Everything's going to be okay now. He's gone and he's never coming back. I'm just fine and you're going to be fine, too, do you understand me?"

He watched as Justin stared intently into his eyes as they both sought reassurance that they would be able to return to the life they recently had, before _he_ came back into the picture. Brian knew he wouldn't rest until that happened; it _had_ to happen…..there was no other alternative. "Justin? You understand me?" He gently brushed some more tears from Justin's cheeks until he finally saw his partner nod slightly and his breathing slow. He pulled the slender body toward him as his arms wound themselves around the quivering back; Justin's hands were still tightly gripping Brian's shirt as they molded together. They remained on the couch, embracing, for several minutes as Brian cooed soft words of hope and reassurance to his broken partner, trying to draw the same strength from Justin in return. "We _will_ get through this, Sunshine, just like we always have," Brian murmured as his head rested on Justin's shoulder. "We will."

Finally, as Brian felt Justin's body relax against him and his breathing even out, he slowly pulled back to look into the tear-stained face. From the first moment he had looked on that face under the streetlamp, he had thought it was the face of an angel and the most beautiful countenance he had ever seen. As he gazed into that face once again, he _still_ felt that way. "I love you…..so fucking much," he whispered, gently caressing Justin's shoulders. He was no longer afraid to say those three momentous words out loud as he smiled at his husband tenderly. "You're so beautiful."

Justin's eyes teared up once more, but this time from Brian's words of endearment and the open, heartfelt expression on his face. This man – this wonderful man who had stood by him and supported him through everything – was still here, still keeping him afloat, still loving him. "How did I get so lucky?" he whispered softly, reaching up to cup Brian's cheek with his hand. "_You're_ the beautiful one."

Brian curled his lips under. "I prefer sexy and hot," he kidded his husband, receiving a grin in return.

"You're that, too," Justin affirmed, moving his hand down to slowly rub his fingers across the soft, full lips. "And I love you, too, Brian Kinney – with every bone in my weary body."

Brian smiled softly as he rubbed small circles on Justin's shoulders, noticing that the blond still did look tired. "I think you could use a nap, Sunshine. Why don't you go lie down for a while?"

Justin nodded, knowing better than to argue with his husband. "Will you come with me?"

Brian's heart twisted a little at the almost insecure tone in Justin's voice. "You bet," he answered firmly. "You've never known me to turn down a chance to go to bed with you, have you?" he kidded him, getting another, small smile in return. He decided he liked those smiles, which were still slight but at least more frequent than they had been before. Soon, he hoped he would see the kind of smile his husband was renowned for, but for now, it was more than enough. He released his grip on Justin's shoulders to stand up and extend his hand down for Justin to take. His husband gazed up into his eyes for a couple of seconds before placing his smaller hand in his and allowing Brian to gently pull him upright. Hand in hand, they walked back into the bedroom.

As they both lay down on top of the covers and Brian spooned up against Justin to once again take him in his arms, he knew Justin might need more help than he could provide for him. But as he heard his husband's light, regular breathing a few minutes later, signaling he had fallen asleep, thoughts of tomorrow slipped away from him. Here, now…..this was what was important. They would work through this – together, just like they always did...

_

* * *

_

One Hour Later

Brian sat at his desk, looking at his laptop. He had tried to focus on the new campaign his art department was working on for Brown Athletics – their contract with Kinnetik was due to expire in a couple of weeks – but he just couldn't concentrate on anything – or anyone – except his partner, who was still asleep. He slowly shut the computer, knowing it was useless to keep staring at the same screen over and over again.

He was undecided about how best to help his partner. Justin had managed to recuperate completely from his bashing at the hands of Chris Hobbs – at least outwardly. And for a long time he had seemed whole on the inside, too; that is, until he had met up with that Cody person and the Pink Posse. That, and Shanda Leer's assault at the hands of some homophobes, had served to bring Justin's struggles to the surface. It seemed his internal pain had never quite been healed completely; his partner was pretty adept at hiding his inner turmoil from him. Was he doing that now, also? Was he really being forthcoming about how much he had been through with Prescott? Was he even telling him everything that had happened?

He placed his head in his hands as he put his elbows on the desk in concern; Justin had certainly seemed to be upfront about what had happened to him – Brian knew it couldn't have been easy telling him about the assaults – and at least he hadn't been holding all of his feelings in; that much was clear. But was his partner telling him everything or trying to somehow shield some of the pain from him? He knew that Justin realized he still felt guilty about what had happened, even though his partner had been adamant that he wasn't to blame. He loved Justin with all his heart, and would do anything for him to help him heal. Was he really capable of helping his husband properly, though? Was it fair not to insist that Justin seek professional counseling to address the ordeal he had just been through?

"Brian?" He lifted his head at the unexpected sound of Justin's soft voice calling him from the doorway. He glanced up to see his partner standing there, his hair a mussed up mess and his sweats sitting precariously low on his slim hips. It seemed his partner had lost a few pounds during his time with Prescott. Should Brian add that to the pile of guilt accumulating in his heart? He sighed softly before rising to walk over to the blond and take him in his arms to reassuringly hold him for a few seconds.

He pulled back to gaze into Justin's eyes. "Did you sleep okay?" he asked tenderly, holding onto Justin's shoulders. He silently berated himself for getting out of bed earlier; he should have stayed with his husband in case he needed him. Besides, he hadn't been able to concentrate on his work, anyway.

"Yeah, I guess…..at least until I woke up and you weren't there," Justin told him truthfully without a hint of accusation, even though it did nothing to assuage Brian's own feelings of guilt. "I missed you," he whispered, twisting his mouth to stare into the intense hazel eyes.

Brian once more pulled him into a fierce embrace. "I'm sorry – I should have stayed in bed with you," he apologized as he nuzzled the top of Justin's head. "I was just trying to work on one of Brown's ad campaigns," he explained.

"It's okay," Justin said against his chest. "I was just lonely without you," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around the brunet's lean waist. He had always seemed to be able to sense when Brian was gone from their bed, even when they weren't even touching; now, though, it seemed even more obvious when his husband wasn't there with him.

Brian gave Justin a firm squeeze before releasing him. He glanced down into the studio below; Justin had shown no interest whatsoever in resuming his painting since they had returned, which was a concern of his. But he was willing to give it a few days before he decided to enlist some others to help encourage him to return to his art. Brian knew that with the exception of him, Justin's art was his greatest love. If Justin couldn't bring himself to pick up a charcoal pencil or a paintbrush soon, Brian knew he would have no choice but to force his husband to seek more qualified counseling. He snorted silently – as if he could actually _force_ his stubborn partner to do anything he didn't want to do. He had tried that numerous times before and had irrevocably failed every time. But this time he wouldn't take no for an answer. He only hoped it wouldn't come to a showdown over it, but if it did, he was prepared to stand his ground and not back down, because Justin wasn't Justin without his art to express himself with.

He noticed the bright sunlight now streaming in through the studio windows and thought of an idea. "How about I take Sunshine for a walk in the sunshine?" he quipped. "I could use a little fresh air. How about it?" He held his breath, hoping that Justin would agree but not sure what his reaction would be.

A slight frown appeared on the pale, beautiful face. "I….I don't know, Brian," he said a little uncertainly. "Where do you want to go?" He had to admit, it actually sounded inviting being outside and not having to worry about Prescott stalking him anymore, but on other hand, he still felt oddly nervous about not being in the safe confines of their loft and relatively unprotected again. He looked up as Brian squeezed his shoulder for attention.

"Just up on the roof," he said mysteriously.

Justin's eyes widened in bewilderment. He had expected Brian to say maybe the corner deli down the street, one of the artisan shops sprinkled throughout the neighborhood, or maybe even a walk down to his favorite park located a few blocks away. He often strolled down there with his sketchbook in hand and a couple of charcoal pencils in search of an inspired idea for his next painting. But the roof? The last - and only time, in fact - he had been up on the roof, it had been dusty, drab, and littered with ductwork of all sizes and shapes; why in the world would Brian want to go up _there_? For the view, perhaps? That could be the only reason he could think of.

"You want to go up on the roof?" he queried skeptically, as he peered over at Brian's clothing. While the jeans and shirt he was wearing were somewhat faded and not his newest clothes by any means, they were still designer duds and therefore quite expensive to replace if he should get them stained with grease or coated in dust.

Brian nodded, curling his lips under. "Yeah…I think you'll find it very interesting. What do you say?"

Justin stared into the hopeful eyes of his husband; he didn't understand why this was so important to Brian, but for some reason, it was. He couldn't imagine why, but he _did_ know one thing: he loved this man and trusted him with his life - as well as his heart. He nodded just a little in acceptance. "Okay….if that's what you want."

Brian held his hand out to his husband. "It is," he verified. "Come on," he implored softly.

Justin frowned, wondering again why this was so important to Brian, but he didn't really question it. Taking Brian's hand in his, his husband slowly led him over to the upstairs foyer and then down the end of the hallway to a seldom-used door that led to the stairs that would take them out onto the roof. He released his hold on Justin's hand to insert the old-fashioned skeleton key – a relic of the building's former heyday – into the keyhole and turn the cumbersome metal key to unlock the heavy, wooden door.

As he turned the glass doorknob and heard the hinges creaking, he couldn't help thinking he needed to get some WD-40 to fix that problem before he swung the door open wide and motioned with his hand for Justin to go ahead. As Justin looked at him puzzled, he said reassuringly, "Go on – I'll be right behind you."

Justin nodded, hesitating for just a couple of seconds before he began to ascend the rather narrow, wooden steps up to the roof's door. True to his word, Brian followed closely behind him until he had to squeeze past him sideways to reach for the gray, metal door leading to the outside. This one was merely bolted on the inside with a switch; he turned the small contraption to the left to unlock the door and, taking one last look at his husband, he swung the door outward as a bright stream of sunlight flooded the cobwebbed-filled staircase from above.

As Brian stepped out onto the former cement floor, he prayed that this was a good idea. He never in a million years thought he would wind up presenting this to Justin like he was – but his initial idea seemed light years away now; it was too late to go back. They could only move forward now – he _wanted _to move forward, and he was hoping this would be the start of that process.

As Justin stepped up to emerge onto the roof, he temporarily was blinded by the stark contrast of the dimly-lit staircase with the bright sunlight reflecting off the roof. The silver finish of the imposing ductwork, used back in the days when the loft was home to a manufacturing facility, intensified the sun's rays and it took him several seconds for his eyesight to adjust to the glare.

As it did, however, he gasped; this was the _roof_? Gone was the dusty, dingy and drab cement floor; in its place was a warm-looking, wooden floor surrounded by several redwood boxes of various shapes and sizes, holding a multitude of flowers and dwarf trees. On the far side of the roof were a series of window seats built against the redwood railings; part of the railing had lattice trellises attached for vines to create shade in the summertime. Rows and rows of twinkling lights were hung alongside the banisters and a tall, old-fashioned looking but modern gaslight was set up at the far opposite corner.

The most amazing part of the roof's transformation, however, was in the corner to his right. A glass-roofed, rectangular gazebo had been built to fashion the area into an actual entertainment nook. A butter-colored, soft leather, weather-resistant sofa had been installed alongside the back corner wall, with a combination stainless steel barbeque and compact refrigerator set on the other adjoining wall. A small, round, glass and pewter eating table was in the center of the gazebo with a squat, ivory-colored pillar candle sitting in the middle. A crystal bud vase sat next to it with one, perfect-looking, long-stemmed red rose inside.

As Brian watched Justin's reaction, he smiled a little in recollection over how far he had fallen into the lesbionic depths of romantic gestures; he had actually had the courage to call Cynthia and arrange to have the single flower delivered to the loft earlier this morning while Justin was still asleep. Funny how it hadn't seemed to bother him as much as he thought it would…..

Justin's eyes filled with tears; when had Brian done this? How? His mouth fell open in astonishment as he turned to stare into the soft hazel eyes that were shining back at him with love. Justin finally found his voice to ask, "When did you do _this_?" He couldn't help turning back around briefly to take in every detail of the magical transformation before facing his husband again. "Brian …" He didn't really even know where to begin as words failed him; this incredible man never ceased to amaze him at every turn of their lives.

Brian smiled softly, happy that Justin was so affected by his surprise but sorry that he had not had the chance to present it to him the way he would have liked; that was before their world had come crashing down. He tried not to think about the past few days' events but concentrate on the present and his husband's look of disbelief as he explained, "I had the work done while you were out of town. It…," he took an almost painful breath as he recalled his previous plans and hopes for their special day, "It was supposed to be a surprise wedding anniversary present for you. Do you like it?"

Justin breath caught in his throat at his husband's question – did he _like _it? "Brian," he breathed out breathlessly as he looked around once more in an attempt to take in every minute detail that Brian had so painstakingly considered. His love of the outdoors, his preference for certain colors as evidenced by the flowers and color of the couch that had been chosen…even the warm, butterscotch hue of the floor – they had all been meticulously thought out according to what Brian knew he would like. He even noticed an artist's easel standing in the far corner of the gazebo, near the spot where most of the sunlight would filter in during the afternoon. "Brian…." He began again, almost speechless.

Noticing what had caught Justin's attention, Brian explained, "I thought with the great light up here that maybe you might want to come up and paint sometimes." Internally, he prayed that he was right; before Justin's ordeal, he knew his husband would have jumped at the chance to do that; now, he wasn't so sure. He watched as Justin slowly walked over to the gazebo and stood in front of the easel that was currently empty, waiting silently for a blank canvas to be placed there for completion. His heart broke a little as he watched Justin reach out tentatively with his right hand and lightly brush his fingertips in a line from the top to the bottom of the canvas before dropping his hand to his side.

Justin turned then to gaze out over the neighborhood stretched out below him; having been a former manufacturing facility, their building was one of the tallest ones in the area, despite being only three stories tall. Fortunately, though, the additional height provided them with a dramatic, panoramic view of the entire town of Lawrenceville; Brian was hoping that one day soon Justin would feel that familiar pull to take advantage of his new perspective and replicate the magnificent view into one of his paintings.

As he walked up to stand behind him, Brian heard his husband utter a soft sigh. He gently placed his hands on Justin's shoulders and was relieved not to feel the blond jump in startled surprise, as he had done a few times since they had returned home. Hopefully, Justin's horrific memories at the hands of Prescott were quickly fading into happier ones now. "It's a wonderful view up here, isn't there?" he whispered in Justin's ear, smiling encouragingly even though he knew Justin couldn't really see him. "I hope you'll want to paint a picture of it to go in my office so it'll remind me of you when I look at it."

Justin felt a lump in his throat as he turned to face his beautiful, caring husband. Brian's face was a mixture of tenderness and hopefulness; he knew why – he knew Brian was trying to encourage him to start painting again. And maybe soon he would; but for now, it was just too soon…..

"Yes, it's beautiful," he admitted, gazing up into Brian's face. He reached to place his hand on Brian's cheek and smiled gratefully at him. "Almost as beautiful as you."

"What'd I tell you about that word, Sunshine?" Brian kidded him. He was heartened to see Justin's face break out into even more of a smile – this time, it was a medium smile – more than the ones he had shown before, but not up there with his radiant ones. Brian was glad, though, that he seemed to be moving in the right direction.

Justin smiled a little wider. "Oh, yeah….I forgot. Hot – it's almost as hot as you."

Brian's own smile widened at his husband's remark, relishing in the bantering they typically engaged in – before this had all happened. "That's better," he told the blond, lips curling under. He glanced around their immediate surroundings. "So do you like what I did?"

Justin shook his head at the absurdity of the question. "Brian….this is absolutely _amazing_," he replied, caressing the brunet's cheek lovingly. "_You're_ amazing…..as well as hot," he added quickly as Brian smiled at the quip. "I'll never know how I ever got so lucky."

"No, Justin," Brian told him instantly, sobering. "_I'm_ the lucky one…..and I don't ever let a day go by without realizing that." He took Justin's hand and slowly pulled him toward his body as he leaned in to give Justin a kiss.

His partner met him halfway as their lips melded together perfectly and their hands wound around each other's waists in an attempt to become one. In a way, they _were_ one…..one whole of two perfect parts, two hearts beating as one, two soul mates bound together eternally.

Despite his goal not to push Justin, Brian couldn't help silently encouraging their kiss to deepen by swiping his tongue gently across the soft, raspberry-colored lips as he angled Justin's head for better penetration; his heart soared as Justin opened his mouth to grant him access. For a while he had feared that he would never have these chances again; he was determined to savor every wonderful moment. He felt Justin slowly pulling him toward the couch directly in front of them as he continued to taste every nuance of Justin's sweetness. He would never get tired of this dance of love between the two of them…

His eyes opened as he felt their forward motion stopping; Justin hesitated just for a second before, without missing a beat of their kiss, he sat down on the edge of the soft, buttery surface and pulled Brian down with him. In the wink of an eye, Brian found himself fully stretched out on the couch with Justin's familiar body underneath him.

Brian eyes locked on those of his partner's as they stared at each other. "Justin….." he whispered, his breath hitching at the blue eyes that were boring into his. "I love you," he whispered gently, saying the only thing that mattered for now. Before he had a chance to say anything else, his husband smiled tenderly up at him before reaching to pull his head back down for another kiss.

As their tongues tangled together in heated passion, he felt his arousal quickly growing and pulled back, intending to break their embrace and sit up on the couch; to put some separation between them. His husband's touch, just his voice alone, could make him tingle with desire and cause his rational thoughts to disappear; the last thing he wanted, though, was to pressure Justin for something he wasn't ready for, either emotionally _or_ physically, and he knew his husband's body wasn't ready yet for what they normally engaged in.

But Justin held him firmly by his shoulders and stared him in the eyes, saying urgently, "Love me, Brian." He grasped Brian's biceps tightly and tried to pull him back down to his own body but Brian somehow managed to hold him at bay.

"Justin….The doctor said…," he began as Justin started to urgently unbutton his shirt. His words stopped in his throat and his heart began to beat wildly at the gentle, probing touch of the blond's long-fingered artist's hands as they finished succeeding in unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it aside to expose his tanned chest. He gasped as Justin tweaked one of his nipples and then palmed it, circling the puckered, affected nub over and over again; his other hand slowly crept lower toward the fly of Brian's jeans.

"Justin…..Fuck!" he cried out as his husband succeeded in opening his jeans and snaked his hand inside to grasp his cock in one fluid motion; they had been together for so long, they were both experts at honing in our their target without any need for preamble. Brian squeezed his eyes shut briefly as his body warred with his emotions over what to do.

He opened them to look down into the darkening orbs of blue, wanting so badly to just give in, to do what Justin so urgently seemed to want and need; to do what HE desperately wanted and needed as well. He had been so afraid that Justin would shrink from his intimate touch, and now his heart leapt at Justin's overtures. But right now he had to think with his head instead of his heart; Justin had just been through something horrific and his body needed time to heal. As much as he wanted to give in – _needed_ to give in – he had to do what was best for his lover. With great reluctance, he pulled Justin's hand from his body and grasped it in his hand. He kept his gaze on the frustrated eyes of his partner as he brought their twined hands up to give the smaller hand a reassuring kiss on top.

"God, Justin…..You don't know how much I want you," he couldn't help admitting huskily as he saw tears forming in the blue eyes and his heart broke. "But I don't want to hurt you, Sunshine." As Justin closed his eyes, unable to prevent the tears of discouragement from falling, Brian silently damned the man who had caused his partner's anguish. "Justin….God, please…. don't cry," he pleaded. He could handle any emotion in the world except seeing his husband hurt. They had been through so much at the hands of Prescott; it seemed even in death the man was continuing to torture them. He seethed inside with hatred, but tried hard not to let it show on his face for Justin's sake. _You are NOT going to win, you fucker, do you understand me?_ _I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch..._

"Brian, please," Justin whispered as he opened his eyes and stared into Brian's tormented ones. He curled his fingers around Brian's hand as he beseeched him. "I need you. I need you inside me. I need you to take the pain away."

Brian closed his eyes in agony. He had thought of nothing else, had dreamed of nothing else, since they had gotten back together. He had worried that Justin would never crave his touch again the way he had before. But now here they were; Justin was yearning for him to touch him, to make love to him and he, Brian Kinney, was afraid – afraid of hurting his own husband. "God, Justin…you don't know how much I want that," he said in a choked voice to reassure him. "But I can't - I _won't _risk hurting you more."

He twisted to the side to lay next to the slender body so he wasn't pressing against Justin's frame as he reached down and forced the disappointed face up to meet his gaze. "It's just until you're healed – you know that, don't you?...Justin?"

Justin swallowed the lump in his throat before nodding reluctantly. He knew Brian was right – they couldn't risk him exacerbating his injuries; if they did, it might set them back even more. But he had finally reached the point of wanting, _needing_ Brian to make love to him and they couldn't do it. He knew his feelings for this man wouldn't change – they never could – but he was so frustrated, so angry that Prescott had done this to them. "I know," he finally whispered painfully. "But I want you so badly, Brian."

Brian gently brushed the hair away from Justin's bangs. "I want you, too, Sunshine." He peered into his lover's eyes. "And we'll be together again – soon...I promise."


	16. Epiphany and Poetic Justice

The two lovers stayed wrapped in each other's arms for at least an hour; Brian half lay, half sat lengthwise on the spacious couch with Justin nestled between his legs. Brian hadn't realized when he had the rooftop remodeled that it would provide them with a unique view of the sunset each evening, but as the daylight waned the sun slowly began to sink below the horizon, bathing the entire neighborhood sky in streaks of pink, purple, and gold. Any other time, before this whole thing with Prescott had occurred, Justin wouldn't have been able to stop himself from running over to the canvas and sketching some preliminary drawings of the spectacular setting playing out below them. Brian was content at the moment merely holding his husband in his arms again, but part of him was also disappointed that Justin didn't appear to be the least bit interested in putting the beautiful scene down on canvas. He hoped that one day soon, though, that would change.

He tightened his grip on Justin's slender body as he felt him shuffle a little underneath him; the blond's hands were lying loosely on top of his own as he listened to Justin's heartbeat, giving him assurance that the man he loved was back in his arms where he belonged. He wasn't quite healed – physically or emotionally – but it was a start.

He looked down as he felt Justin's fingers lightly touching his wrist; the bracelet that Justin had gotten him on their honeymoon reflected the sun's waning rays as Justin whispered, "I'm glad you're still wearing this."

Brian smiled into the mop of soft hair as he inhaled the familiar scent of the shampoo Justin always liked to use – some sort of almost woodsy type of fragrance mixed in with a hint of jasmine. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but his husband had been using it for so long now, he automatically thought of him any time he got a whiff of it.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he whispered fervently, his lips creating a slightly warm breeze on the top of Justin's head. The braided, platinum, one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry that spelled out the word "loved" on it in Greek had become one of his most treasured possessions ever since Justin had given it to him, and it was as much a part of him now as his wedding band. He could still recall that day when he had lost it temporarily and his heart had dropped; there were so many memories connected with the gift that Justin had given him on their honeymoon that he had thought it was a horrible omen of things to come when it had been ripped away from his wrist at the mansion, much like his heart had felt like it had been ripped away as well. But here it was, back on his wrist where it belonged, and he was once more holding the man he loved where _he_ belonged. He vowed silently to never let it – or the man who gave it to him – out of his grasp ever again.

"Justin?" He cocked his head to stare down at their intertwined hands as he noticed the silence that followed. "What are you thinking?"

He heard a soft sigh. "I'm just wondering when things will all get back to normal – _if_ that's even possible."

Brian shifted so he could sit up a little bit to twist his head and gaze into the thoughtful blue eyes. "They will," he reassured him firmly. "It's just going to take time." They had both been through so much in the past – Justin's bashing, the bombing, Brian's cancer, not to mention the entire horrible events that followed after meeting Prescott a few years ago – that they could almost write the book on recovering from life-changing events. He silently hoped that he was right this time – even someone as strong and courageous as his husband must have their limits eventually.

He brushed his cheek against Justin's head, whispering, "I'll be there every step of the way with you, you know that."

Justin rubbed a couple of fingers lightly over his wedding band that was peeking through his and Brian's interlaced hands. He couldn't imagine going through what he had been through the past few years without Brian by his side. "I know you will," he said gratefully. He turned to gaze up into Brian's eyes as the brunet smiled back at him tenderly. He craned his neck up enough for their lips to meet softly for a few seconds before, breaking the kiss, he turned and settled back into his husband's embrace as the sun continued to hang low in the sky. Just before it disappeared completely, the sky turned from a pinkish purple to a kaleidoscope of hues as the stars slowly appeared, promising a cloudless night and a full moon.

Brian felt the slight body shiver. He tightened his arms around Justin as he asked, "Getting cold?" Once the sun had gone down, the air had turned noticeably brisker.

"Just a little," Justin admitted. "But I really don't want to go in just now." He was feeling so content at the moment, just lying there in his husband's protective cocoon.

Brian smiled. "Well, I think I can take care of that," he said, hastily adding so Justin didn't misunderstand, "Let me get up and I'll turn the fire pit on." The black chrome and glass, square-shaped coffee table in front of them also doubled as a fire pit once the cover was lifted; he had assumed that Justin, with his creative soul, would crave the ability to stay out among the stars at night to paint, and he had made an allowance for that.

Justin eyed him curiously as he sat up enough to allow Brian to swing his legs around and sit up, also. "Fire pit?"

Brian stood up and smiled as he nodded. "The wonders of technology," he said, grinning as he reached over to retrieve a remote control and pulled the metal cover off the top of the coffee table to expose the fire pit built underneath. One push of a button on the remote and a small, rapidly-growing flame sparked in the center of the table, quickly creating warmth around them. He gingerly placed the table top to lean against the side of the table as he sat back down and placed his hand around Justin's shoulders. "Better?" he asked.

Justin eyed the flickering flames in amazement. "You thought of everything, you know that?" he said admiringly as he smiled over at the brunet.

"Well, I had some other way of keeping you warm in mind," he admitted huskily. "But I had the remodelers put this in just in case."

Justin gazed at the fire and shook his head before turning to stare into Brian's eyes. The flames reflected off his irises, creating a rainbow of light in them as Brian gazed back at him intently. "I love you, you know," Justin told him softly. "You are incredible."

Brian's lips twisted almost in a self-deprecating way. "I am, aren't I?" he said facetiously before turning more serious. "You're pretty incredible yourself, Sunshine. So I guess we're stuck with each other."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Justin repeated back to him before they came together for another kiss. Gently pulling the blond down along with him, once more Brian reclined sideways on the couch with Justin curled up on top of him as the two gazed several minutes at the fire enveloped by the starlight. Only when Brian heard the soft whispers of sleep coming from Justin's lips a few minutes later did he allow himself the same luxury.

* * *

_Next Morning _

Brian awoke with a start as he reached out for Justin on the couch and simply came up with air. "Justin?" he called out, a little concerned as he raised his head. He was about to get up and look for him but sighed silently in relief as he observed his husband, freshly showered and dressed in a clean pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, walking over to him with a metal, oval, ivory-colored platter with two mugs of coffee and condiments on it.

Brian sat up and smiled at Justin as the blond walked over and sat down next to him, placing the tray down on the now-covered coffee table. "I woke up a little while ago and thought you might want some coffee," he explained.

Brian leaned over to give him a kiss. "Thanks," he said simply with a small smile, touched at Justin's thoughtfulness. "How did you sleep last night?" He really hadn't intended for them to spend the night out here, but once Justin had fallen asleep, he didn't have the heart to wake him. Besides, he had to admit – falling asleep in front of a fire with the man you love and thought you might not ever see again did have a definite attraction…..And for whatever reason, Justin miraculously had slept through the night without any nightmares.

Justin handed him his mug of coffee already sweetened with way too much sugar as he said, "Okay. It helped having you there," he said almost shyly as Brian gazed back at him. He picked up his own mug and, taking a sip, looked out onto the now-bustling street below, filled with pedestrians going to work, either in the nearby studios or on their way to downtown Pittsburgh. It was going to be another sunny day, judging from the cloudless day and bright sunshine streaming behind them. "This whole space is so wonderful, Brian," he told his husband as he turned to look at him. "You thought of pretty much everything," he commented.

Brian placed his coffee cup down on the table and took Justin's free hand in his. He idly rubbed the blond's wedding band with his finger as he softly said, "Not everything, Justin." He hadn't been able to prevent that monster from hurting him.

"Brian," Justin began; he freed his hand from Brian's and placed his fingers against the brunet's lips before he had a chance to say anything more. "Don't you dare start with that guilt trip shit again," he warned him firmly. "I thought we had moved beyond that nonsense." He set his mug down on the table to take his other hand in his. "I am not planning on spending one more second even thinking about that…..that sick excuse for a human being – are you?" He knew that wasn't totally the truth – no one could have gone through what he – and Brian – had been through and just be able to ignore what had happened. But he wasn't about to place any more of a unfair burden on Brian than he already had. "Brian?" He gazed intently into his eyes, waiting for a response.

Brian peered into the soft blue eyes a few seconds before shaking his head in agreement. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy. For Justin, though, for his sake, he would try.

"Good," the blond told him, smiling softly. Brian reached up to take Justin's hand in his to bring it back to his lips and kiss the knuckles gently; Justin actually blushed a little at the attention as Brian curled his lips under in amusement, amazed that even after all this time he could still evoke that sort of reaction from him.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked him, massaging his hand in his. Even though Justin's hand thankfully didn't bother him too much any longer, Brian still found it a hard habit to break.

Justin couldn't help the small sigh that escaped his lips. "Still a little sore," he admitted truthfully. At Brian's look of concern, though, he hastily added, "But I'm better, Brian – really. It doesn't hurt as much anymore." _At least not physically…._

Brian studied his face for a few seconds, trying to gauge whether Justin was trying to shield anything from him before he nodded. "I'm glad to hear that," he said softly.

The ringing of the doorbell downstairs made Justin's heart speed up irrationally; he knew Prescott was dead but it still didn't keep him from starting each time something unexpected happened.

Brian squeezed his hand before standing up. "I'll answer it."

"No," Justin replied as he stood up to join him. "I'm going with you."

Brian studied the determined face, knowing Justin wasn't about to hide under a mask of fear. He nodded as the two men walked over to the rooftop door and opened it to walk back down to the main living area. The bell sounded once more as they walked over to the lower level staircase and descended.

Brian subtly ensured that he was leading as he reached the foyer door first. Opening it, he was relieved to see that it was Carl and Greg, along with Debbie, who was holding a oval, covered casserole dish in her hands with two rooster-shaped oven mitts.

"The cavalry, I presume?" Brian intoned drolly.

Justin peered around his body to see who he was addressing as Debbie's eyes lit up with a combination of sympathy and love. He couldn't help twisting his mouth wryly as she smiled back at him and her face lit up. He prepared himself for the standard bear hug of a greeting, but she was uncharacteristically reserved as she softly said, "Sunshine. You don't know how glad I am to see you back where you belong and safe."

"Thanks, Deb," he told her sincerely; he knew she could be over the top at times – actually, _most_ times – but she was also one of the most loving and generous people he had ever known. She could also be brutally honest at times, but that was actually one of the things he loved the most about her – she didn't pull any punches when she had to. Perhaps he needed a little more of that at the moment; he was frequently getting the impression that both Brian and his mother were tiptoeing around him and he didn't want that. He had called his mother early this morning while Brian was still asleep, and their conversation had been pleasant enough, but that was just it. It was _pleasant_, just like they were discussing the latest gossip or weather.

There was no specific mention of what had happened to him the past few days, no queries about whether he was having nightmares, and no talking about what Prescott had done to him. He wondered just how much she _did_ know – he knew she had been waiting with Debbie at her and Carl's house for word of where he was when he had been held captive by Prescott, but just what had she been told? He had to admit – he had been as much of a coward as she had been during their phone call – both of them were afraid to really talk about what they needed to say; it was almost as if by not talking about it, it might go away or be dismissed as a bad dream. It _had _been a bad dream, all right – it had been a nightmare. But with Brian's help, the worst time of his life was slowly subsiding ever so slightly with each day that passed.

Greg and Carl nodded at Brian and then looked over at Justin as the brunet opened the door wider to let the trio in. Justin extended his hand out in turn to both men. "I owe you a big debt of gratitude," he told them softly. "More than I will ever be able to pay." They had saved his life, of that he had no doubt, especially Greg. If Greg hadn't shot Prescott, as horrible as it had been to witness firsthand, he was convinced he would now be in Canada somewhere, still an unwilling captive at the hands of that psychotic monster.

Greg pursed his lips thoughtfully as he shook Justin's hand. "I'm just glad it all worked out for you, and that I was in the right place at the right time," he said, nodding. He rubbed his hand over his face in recollection. "How someone like Prescott could go from what he had been to that crazy asshole, I'll never be able to fathom…."

"Uh, Greg, can we just not talk about it right now?" Brian asked, noticing Justin's face clouding over as he no doubt relived what had happened to him.

Greg and Carl looked at each other as they followed Debbie, Justin and Brian down the hall toward the staircase. "I wish I could, Brian, but we have to talk to you both. There's some loose ends we need to tie up, and I think you need to know something about one of your employees."

Brian's eyes darkened instantly as he noticed Justin's face paling. "What are you talking about?" he asked as he stopped dead in his tracks and reached out to grasp Justin's sleeve with his arm; he wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure Justin or himself as he eyed Carl warily. "What does one of my employees have to do with that psycho?"

"Uh, can we go sit down, Brian?" Carl asked.

Brian stared at both men, as well as Debbie; it was apparent by the fact that Debbie was with them, as well as the expression on her face, that Debbie knew what was going on as well. She didn't appear the least surprised by what Carl was saying to them. The brunet looked over at Justin, who nodded. "Okay," he said, holding out his arm to indicate they should go first. The three visitors began to ascend the staircase, but Brian tugged slightly on his husband's arm for his attention. "Justin, maybe I should…."

"No, Brian," he was told firmly, Justin's blue eyes flashing with determination. "Whatever they have to say, we are _both_ involved. No hiding or evasion, okay?"

Brian looked at the set of his jaw and knew Justin wouldn't be deterred. And truthfully, he was right. This whole mess involved both of them, Justin even more than him. "Okay," he said softly, pulling Justin by his arm toward him to lean his forehead against the soft mop of blond bangs. "Let's go see what they have to say, then."

Justin leaned into Brian's embrace for a moment before he pulled back and nodded. Silently, hand in hand, they ascended the staircase to the upstairs main floor.

As they stepped up onto the landing, Debbie walked back from the kitchen carrying her two glove mitts. "I brought you boys some of my beef stew," she told them. "It's in the fridge." She raised one lacquered finger at Brian, telling him, "You make sure you get him to eat, understand?" She looked over at Justin's raised eyebrows. "And don't hand me any shit about being able to take care of yourself, either, Sunshine. Your clothes are about ready to fucking fall off of you. As soon as we're gone, you're going to heat that stew up and eat some, you got it?"

Justin couldn't help smiling a little at his mother hen. "Yes, Ma'am," he responded dutifully, raising two fingers to his chest. "Scout's honor," he promised solemnly.

She nodded. "That's better." She paused for a second before adding, "You talked to your mother yet?"

He grinned. "Yes, _Mother_, I talked to my _other_ mother this morning. She wanted to come out to visit again, but I told her I was doing okay and she didn't have to do that. She's supposed to be out later this week, though."

She nodded again, somewhat mollified. "Okay, then."

"Debbie," Carl called out to her wearily from the open-loft living area. "Will you quit with the police interrogation and let them come and sit down?"

She nodded a little sheepishly at her two "boys" before walking over with them to join her boyfriend and Greg. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Just wanted to make sure he was being taken care of."

Carl nodded, realizing that Debbie was concerned about Justin especially. He had tried to dissuade her from coming with him and Greg, but she would not be deterred, saying that only she could make sure Justin was eating and taking care of himself. He suspected she knew quite well that Brian would be taking more than enough care of his husband, but she saw it as almost a duty to make sure he was being pampered after what had happened to him. Carl had tried to explain to her that Justin and Brian may not have wanted her here when they explained some of the details regarding Justin's captivity, but she had insisted that if they didn't, she would leave. Something told him, however, that that wasn't going to happen.

She took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs situated directly across from the leather sofa where Greg and Carl were sitting as Justin and Brian sat down together in the matching loveseat. Brian instinctively sought Justin's hand to reassure him as he asked, "Okay, now what were you saying about one of my employees?"

Carl looked over at Greg as he nodded silently for him to answer. "I assume you know who Tom Matheson is."

Brian frowned at first, but nodded as he recognized the name of one of his new employees. "Yeah….he was hired as an ad executive about six months ago. A CEO of one of my biggest clients recommended him, and he had the necessary qualifications at the time so I took a chance and hired him." He eyed both men intently. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"He was responsible for setting up potential new client appointments for you?"

Brian nodded as he looked over at Justin; he felt his husband's hand gripping his tightly as he said, "Yeah, that's right. Carl, quit beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck he has to do with Prescott and what happened to Justin."

"Well, it's more what he had to do with _you_," Carl said. "We backtracked your movements the day you were snatched by one of Prescott's goons at the client meeting downtown, and found out this Matheson was the one who set up that meeting on your calendar."

Brian's eyes narrowed as his mind quickly jumped to all sorts of conclusions, none of which he liked. "Are you trying to tell me that Matheson was in cahoots with that fucker? Because if he was, and he's still at Kinnetik right now, he'd better be gone by the time I get there or I'll rip his balls off _before_ I smash him to a pulp with my foot!" He started to get up, but Justin pulled at his hand to stop him.

"Brian, wait," he pleaded with him. "Let's hear him out." He peered into his husband's eyes with so much concern over what Brian would do that the brunet took a deep breath before nodding reluctantly. Inside, however, his blood was boiling at the thought that his own employee had had a hand in what had happened to Justin.

Carl nodded. "Thanks, Justin," he said quietly before turning back to Brian. "No, that's not what I'm saying. We found out that Matheson was simply a convenient plant who was used by the CEO of Keller Industrials, Jackson Dennis, to get his foot into the door of your company so you could eventually be lured downtown to the Gentlemen's Club for your meeting with another goon of Prescott's who wound up drugging you at his boss's command. As far as we can tell, Matheson was just doing a favor for a "friend of a friend," as he put it. He really had no idea he was doing anything other than arranging for his boss to meet with a potential client who, as Matheson was told, wasn't really interested in doing business with you. He was told the man was personally interested in you instead, and he felt he owed Dennis a favor for getting him his job at Kinnetik in the first place."

Brian squeezed Justin's hand almost painfully as he seethed inside. "Like I said, Carl," he replied with deathly calm, "If he isn't gone by the time I get down there, he's going to regret it. I don't fucking care if he knew what he was doing or not; just the fact that he set me up with someone who he _knew_ wasn't interested in doing business with Kinnetik but rather wanted to get into my pants is enough for me. No matter what he knew or didn't know, it resulted in Justin being held hostage by that maniac. Are you absolutely positive he didn't know anything else?"

Carl nodded. "He took a lie detector test, Brian, and passed without any hint of vacillation." He glanced over at Greg. "But you won't have to worry about him being at Kinnetik. Your assistant, Cynthia, told me this morning that he had quit day before yesterday after we interrogated him."

"Well, he fucking saved his skin, then," Brian growled, his eyes flashing. "Literally." He glanced over at Justin, whose eyes were filled with a mixture of concern and pain - pain that he and his employee had been instrumental in causing. Justin didn't deserve any of this, and Matheson had gotten off a lot easier than Brian would have let him.

"What about Dennis?" he asked. "You said he _knew_ Prescott?"

Greg nodded and answered this time. "Yeah, my office did a background check on him and found out he and Prescott had both gone to the University of Chicago for their MBA degrees. From what the man told us yesterday when he was interviewed in my office, Prescott had contacted him somehow out of the blue about six months ago and asked him to find someone to obtain employment at Kinnetik."

"Unbelievable," Brian proclaimed, shaking his head. He had always thought he and Dennis had had a very cordial and close business relationship, a mutually profitable alliance that had gone back at least five years now; with all the publicity that had swirled around both him and Justin at Prescott's trial a year ago, would it not have occurred to the man to mention that little detail to him? Despite the fact that Dennis' account had resulted in a few million dollars worth of revenue for his company, that was the least important thing on his mind at the moment. "Well, whatever his motivations were, he has just severed all contact with me. If I ever see him again, he will wind up with the same treatment I was reserving for Matheson. I don't fucking believe it," he repeated, shaking his head.

Justin took a deep breath and let it out. Would there be no end to Prescott's reach, even in death? He was almost afraid to ask, but had to. "Anything else, Carl? Greg?"

The two men shared one more look among themselves before Greg spoke up; he fidgeted a little uncomfortably as he said,"Yeah…there is one more thing. As you're aware, Prescott killed his twin brother right after they escaped from prison, and he was apparently the only living relative. It seems our little psychopath had been adept at hiding a lot of his wealth overseas in offshore banking accounts from prying eyes. That was how he managed to bankroll so many of his endeavors, both in as well as out of prison. We have not been able to locate any more relatives of his, which would tend to confirm our theory that Aiden Prescott was his last surviving relative."

Carl peered directly at Justin before saying, "The fucker actually had the wherewithal to leave a will with his company's attorney. It seems that even after paying whatever taxes and fines he owed as a result of his conviction last year, his net worth was still in the neighborhood of several million dollars. You are named as the beneficiary of his remaining assets."

Justin was aghast. "You are _not_ serious," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he registered that shocking statement. "This is some sick joke, right?"

Brian squeezed his hand silently, too shocked himself to say anything. Surely Justin was right - it had to be some sort of prank.

But the look on Greg's face was deadly serious as he shook his head. "No, it's not a joke. The man was a multi-millionaire at the time of his conviction, and up until about a year ago, his company was making money hand over fist. It seems when Prescott found out he really was going to go to prison, he scurried to hide most of his tremendous assets overseas, and with all the people he could afford to employ - as well as bribe - he apparently was quite successful in finding overseas accounts to stock whatever funds he could squirrel away on short notice to keep them out of the reach of the IRS and the courts."

"But surely, then, he has to owe millions of dollars to them as a result?" Justin argued, his mind reeling over this piece of information.

"Believe me, the courts and the federal government are taking every penny they are owed, and there's still apparently several million dollars at stake, at least once probate releases the funds. It's going to be up to you, Justin, to decide what you want to do with the money, though."

Justin stared at his visitors like they had the plague. "Are you kidding me?" he said, pulling his hand from Brian's and standing up to walk over to the loft area overlooking his studio and the large windows overlooking the street below. He took a series of short breaths in an attempt to calm himself down before he turned to face all of them with bright eyes starting to fill with unshed tears and said, "I don't want any fucking part of that man's money! Just the thought of what he had to do to get that money makes my skin crawl, just like it did when he…..when he…." He couldn't finish the statement or he thought he might puke where he stood. "I want NO part of it - or HIM! Is that clear enough for you? You can throw the fucking money in the ocean for all I care! He turned around to place his shaking hands back on the banister. "Is there no end to what this man will do? Even when he's _dead?_" He gripped the banister so tightly with his hands, they were beginning to quickly turn white as he shook with rage and frustration.

"Justin," he heard Brian saying softly behind him; he hadn't even been aware of when his husband had stood up to join him, but he soon felt his hands on his shoulders as he allowed himself to be pulled back into his embrace. "Let it go," he whispered softly. "He's nothing to us, and neither is his money."

Justin closed his eyes in anguish, the pain washing over him again like a stifling blanket. "He will never be out of our lives," he whispered in a choked voice, as he leaned back into the strong body of his husband. "Never."

He was spun gently around to face a pair of flashing, hazel eyes. "Don't you say that, Justin!" he reprimanded him firmly. "That man is gone and is not coming back. Remember what you told me - we are _not_ going to let him have any more power over us. We control our destiny from now on - _not_ him. Do you understand me?" The blond stood there silently as he swallowed hard and tried to control his emotions. "Do you trust me, Justin?"

Justin gazed into his eyes, so familiar and so reassuring to him and let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. Yes, he trusted this man; he trusted him with his life - and his heart. "Yes, Brian," he whispered. "I understand. And I do trust you."

Brian smiled back at him tenderly. "It's all going to be okay now, because we have each other. That's all that matters, okay?" He gazed into the worried blue eyes shining with unshed tears and hated Prescott all over again for continuing to put the man he loved through so much agony. _Hell is too fucking good for you, Prescott…._

Justin sighed and finally nodded. "Okay," he answered as, completely oblivious to anyone else in the room, Brian leaned down to kiss the trembling lips softly. As they pulled back, he reached up to wipe the wetness away from Justin's pale cheek and embraced him. The two remained there, lost to the presence of everyone else for several seconds as Brian murmured words of encouragement to him, before finally they broke apart and faced their friends.

"Carl, I'm sure Justin doesn't give a flying fuck what you do with that dirty money - just do whatever you want with it. Neither one of us ever want to see that money - or anything else to do with that psychopath - ever again. We want to get on with our lives now, and we _will."_

He wrapped his arm protectively around Justin's waist for support as he leaned down in his ear to whisper, "You want to go lie down for a while? Or maybe you'd like to go upstairs on the roof."

Their visitors eyed the pair curiously, wondering mutely why Justin would be interested in going up to the roof, but they chose to remain silent as Justin pondered Brian's suggestions. After a few seconds, he finally said, "I think I'll go up to the roof - I'd like to be alone for a little while."

Brian nodded, giving Justin a slight squeeze before releasing him. "I'll be up shortly, okay?"

Justin nodded back at him as he looked over at his friends. "If you don't mind - if you don't need me anymore, I think I've had enough for today."

"Okay," Carl told him sympathetically; he could certainly understand why Justin was still affected by the monster that had held him against his will. "But I still need a statement from you, Son," he told him gently. "At least within the next few days, okay? You and Brian can either come down to the station to see me personally, or you can feel free to come over to the house if you prefer. I'll need a statement from _both_ of you." He would have preferred to take their statements today and had had every intention of doing just that, but after seeing how upset Justin had gotten over this latest disclosure, he figured with the man dead, another few days wouldn't make much difference. Besides, something told him Debbie would blow a gasket if he insisted on it now.

"Okay," Justin reluctantly agreed. The last thing he wanted to do was relive what had happened to him, but he knew it was inevitable so they could close out Prescott's file once and for all. All the other accomplices involved with his and Brian's kidnapping had already either been killed or arrested, so their statements were the last remaining part of the saga to be completed; that and the issue of what to do with Prescott's considerable wealth, that is.

As he turned to leave, Debbie couldn't just let him go just yet. She stood up to intercept him before he had a chance to depart and gently swept him up into her arms. "You're going to be just fine, Kiddo," she assured him tenderly as she wrapped her arms around his back. "You're the most courageous person I know. You and Brian are going to beat this and come out even better on the other side, you hear me?"

She could feel Justin nod back at her silently in agreement and sigh before she slowly pulled back to stare into his tear-stained face. "You are such a special man, Sunshine," she murmured with a soft smile. "And you're going to have nothing but happiness from now on, I just know it."

Justin sniffed a couple of times at the heartfelt words from her friend and was too overcome to say anything at first as he smiled back at her in gratitude. As he turned around silently to go, he experienced a sudden insight of epiphany. Turning back around resolutely to face both Brian and their visitors, he told Greg, "I _will_ take that fucker's money," he told the prosecutor as everyone looked at him in shock. "And I want it all donated to the Vic Grassi House."

Debbie gasped at his statement. "Are you sure, Honey?"

Brian looked at him in amazement as his husband nodded his head firmly and smiled just a little at the thought of just where Prescott's amassed wealth would be going. "Yes," he said with conviction as he looked over at Brian, who nodded in agreement. "I'm sure."


	17. A Helping Hand

_Thirty Minutes Later_

Brian quietly opened the roof's door to emerge out into the sunlight – he wasn't sure if it was some sort of omen, but he noticed that ever since he and Justin had been reunited, the previous days' ominously-looking, cloudy weather had turned into a series of blue, cloudless days with sunny skies. He had never really put much stock into superstition up until now, believing that one made their own luck in the world, but at the moment he knew both of them could do with whatever good luck they could find, so he chose to look at it as a hopeful sign nonetheless.

He glanced over at the gazebo, expecting to see Justin sitting on the couch like before, but to his surprise he wasn't there. He tamped down a bit of uneasiness, knowing he had to be up here somewhere, before spying him over in the far corner. He was standing with his back to him as a strong wind swirled around him. Brian thought he looked even smaller and more vulnerable as he stood there, his golden, blond hair flying behind him. He had his arms folded stiffly in front of him as he stood there motionless.

As Brian approached Justin, he could only imagine what sort of thoughts were going through his head. He softly walked up to his husband and reached to enfold him into his protective embrace. As soon as he touched him, however, Justin gasped and jumped as if he had been shot; he began to struggle to free himself as Brian's heart dropped in recrimination for sneaking up on him unannounced.

"It's only me, Sunshine," Brian hurriedly assured him as he pulled him back into his arms; Justin briefly struggled until his husband's words sunk in and his body then practically melted in his arms as he sighed. Brian thought it was one of the most mournful sounds he had ever heard as he closed his eyes in regret as well as anger; regret that he had not been able to prevent what had happened to the man he loved, and anger for what Prescott had done to him as well as for his own thoughtlessness.

As he silently nuzzled Justin's cheek in comfort, he wondered how long this would go on before his partner would return to his former self. Perhaps the question actually should be - would he _ever_ return to the same person he was? They had just gotten to the point where they could finally relax their vigilance against Prescott, confident that he no longer could harm them, and now this: Justin was almost afraid to let his guard down, even around him. Even worse, he didn't seem the least bit interested in painting, which alarmed Brian most of all. The only silver lining in this whole, horrible occurrence had been that Justin hadn't shied away from his touch; instead, he seemed to be gravitating toward, craving it. It was a feeling Brian savored as he held Justin protectively in his arms and rocked him slightly side to side as they watched the mid-afternoon rays of the sun slowly march toward evening.

He felt Justin take a deep breath and let it out as he automatically tightened his hold on him and placed his hands over his. He fingered Justin's wedding band with his index finger as once more the thought that perhaps his comfort and gentle words of reassurance might not be enough for what Justin needed filtered through his mind. He loved him deeply, but he was by no means a professional; he had somehow, through the guidance of a trained friend, been able to help Justin recover before from his bashing, and his husband had emerged after the bombing relatively unscathed and even stronger, if that was possible. But this - this was something he had no idea how to handle.

He had a strong feeling, however, what Justin's reaction would be if he were to make the suggestion for him to seek professional help. But if it meant he needed to swallow his pride and force the issue in exchange for Justin getting the help he needed to make him completely well again, then so be it.

"Justin," he whispered. "Let's go sit down, okay?" He rubbed the familiar skin of the blond's arms up and down tenderly for a few seconds before loosening his hold and turning Justin around to look him in the eyes. To his concern, he discovered the eyes bright with unshed tears. "Hey, what's this?" he asked softly as he reached down to place one of his hands around the blond's neck and tenderly feather the wispy hair lying there.

Brian's gentle voice and his eyes gazing back at him worriedly simply caused Justin's eyes to fill with even more tears as they slowly began to trickle down his cheeks. He shook his head mutely, squeezing his eyes shut to try and prevent any more from escaping, but it was no use.

He angrily reached up to wipe away his tears with the sleeve of his long-sleeved, steel-gray tee shirt, feeling like a silly little child over his crying. "I'm sorry," he mumbled self-consciously as he tried to avert his gaze in embarrassment.

Brian looked at him astounded as he gripped Justin's neck to force his gaze to remain on his. Justin reluctantly raised his eyes to peer into his husband's as Brian asked softly, "For what, Sunshine? You have nothing to be sorry for, Justin - _nothing_." He couldn't help thinking that if _anyone_ was to blame for what had happened, it was him for relaxing his guard and not being more skeptical of the circumstances that had led Justin to Prescott in the first place.

"Yes, I do," the blond countered. "For…..for not being stronger. For not being able to escape - for not being more careful," Justin struggled to say.

Brian was momentarily speechless; how could Justin possibly think that way? "Justin….." How to approach this topic? He linked his hands around the slender waist protectively. "Baby, you were _raped_," he reminded him softly, his voice guilt- and pain-laden as he saw Justin purse his lips together in recollection and his face scrunch up in anguish. God, how he hated to have to bring this subject up, but it couldn't be helped.

"I _know_, Brian," Justin responded just a little testily. "I was _there_, remember? I don't want to talk about it anymore." He tried to pull away from the brunet, but he was no match for the steel bands firmly encasing his body. He glared back at him in resentment as Brian gazed into his eyes intently.

"That's just it, Justin," he answered quietly. "You _haven't _talked about it; not to the right person, anyway."

"What are you talking about, Brian? I thought that was exactly what I was doing! You don't want to hear about it? Well, guess what - neither do I!" He huffed out an angry breath. "Let's just drop it then, okay?" Once more, he tried to wriggle out of Brian's embrace, but his husband wasn't allowing it; he was simply no match for the taller man's strength.

"No, Justin, I _can't_ drop it. It's not like a piece of lint that happened to appear on my Gucci shirt - it's not like a bratty neighborhood kid that came over and wouldn't leave. It's not like I bought the wrong size of shoes and just needed to return them."

"I fucking _know_ that, Brian!" Justin snapped at him as he placed the palms of his hands against Brian's chest and tried to push away from him, but he knew it wouldn't work; when Brian had a goal - no matter what it was - he was like a fucking pit bull . "What's your point?"

Brian sighed; he hated having to argue with Justin, especially in light of what he had just been through, but he had no choice. "My point is that you need more help than what I can give you. Just because your body is healing, it doesn't mean you're healing inside."

Sarcasm dripping from his voice, Justin replied, "Oh, that's so poetic, Brian. Maybe you can use that for your next ad campaign for Remsen Pharmaceuticals."

"Stop it, Justin!" Brian cried, shaking him just enough to emphasize how serious he was, and how unreasonable he felt he was being. "I think you need to talk to a professional about what happened."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you!" Justin retorted. "You would be the _last_ person to seek professional help."

"That's not true," Brian told him softly. "I _did_ seek out professional advice before."

"When? Was it the time you and Brandon had your little _professional _bet going on? Did you need advice on how to fuck the most men in the smallest amount of time?"

"No, Justin," Brian said quietly, unwilling to rise to the bait as looked at him directly in the eyes. "It was when you took that bash to the head."

Justin looked at him in surprise; that was definitely not what he had been expecting Brian to say. "What are you talking about?"

Brian paused to take a breath before saying, "After you were injured and you were unable to be…be close to anyone, even me...I went and saw a psychologist friend of mine at Woody's for advice on what to do."

All sense of impertinence quickly died from his lips as Justin replied in shock, "You _did_?"

The brunet nodded. "Yeah." He smiled back at Justin slightly as he told him, "I thought _he_ was the crazy one at the time when he told me to make you relive the event, but it turned out he was right; it wasn't too long after that that you and I were able to…to make love." He figured he might as well as be honest about what it had been - the careful, slow stroking of Justin's body, the gentle rhythm he had established as their bodies had moved as one, the soft, feather-light caresses he had used to worship the slender frame, and the whispery, gentle kisses - yes, he had made love to him that night; he could no longer deny it, nor did he want to.

Justin gazed back at him with renewed appreciation for what Brian had gone through after he had been bashed; he knew he hadn't been the only one affected by it, nor was he the only one who had been affected by what Prescott had done to him, either. He just didn't know, however, if he was willing to speak to a unknown stranger about what had happened to him; it was too degrading, too disgraceful.

"Brian," he said softly as he felt the regular, rhythmic beating of the other man's heart beneath his fingers. "I….I can't do that," he whispered reluctantly. "Please don't insist that I do. You helped me get through the bashing _and_ the bombing, whether you realize it or not. Can't you do the same for me _now_?"

Brian sighed in frustration and concern; yes, he had been able to help Justin after the bashing, and perhaps he _had_ proven to be somewhat cathartic for his husband after the bombing - it certainly had forced him to refocus his own priorities on what was really important and make him come to terms with exactly how he felt about Justin, but this was different. This was so much more personal…..more intimate, more intense and much more humiliating. He had never had to experience what Justin was going through, but that didn't mean he hadn't been deeply affected by it; if _he_ felt so deeply about it, he could only imagine how Justin felt, which was all the more reason why he needed to speak to a professional.

"Justin….This is over my head," he reluctantly admitted. "You jump at my touch, you don't want to leave the loft, you get emotional at the drop of a hat - not that you don't have good reason to," he hastened to add firmly before Justin possibly took offense. "But your painting…..you haven't so much as picked up a paintbrush since you came back," he pointed out. "Justin," he said softly as he slowly rubbed small circles on his slender back. 'You know deep down you need to talk to someone else about this." He gazed into the pain-filled eyes. "Won't you try, Sunshine? For me? For _both_ of us?"

Justin let out a rush of air of indecision as he stared into the worried hazel eyes he knew so well; he always had a terrible time refusing Brian anything - he didn't _want_ to. But his husband didn't realize what he was asking. Just the idea of revealing every, tortuous detail of what had happened - probably even going back _before_ Prescott had assaulted him this last time to dicuss the stalking, drugging and previous kidnapping - was almost too painful to contemplate. Would he even be able to talk to a total stranger about something so personal? And would it actually help to do so? He was having enough trouble talking to _Brian_ - the man who shared every part of his life now and who he told everything; how would he ever be able to talk to someone he didn't even _know?_

Brian waited anxiously for Justin's response to his plea; he desperately wanted his husband back - he missed his creativity and passion, his love for life, his ability to charge headlong into anything he wanted to accomplish. Yes, he physically craved his touch, too - the feeling that only Justin gave him when they fucked or made love - but more than that, he missed the man he remembered from before, and he wanted that back so badly, not only for Justin but also himself.

"Brian," Justin finally whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't know if I can do that. It's all so fucking personal…. so disgusting."

Brian's eye's flashed as he pulled Justin closer to stare unblinking into his eyes. "_Yes_, Justin! What _he_ did was disgusting! What _he_ put you through was fucking despicable! What _he _did was vile and reprehensible! But it was all what _HE _did - _you're_ the innocent party here! That has never been in question, Sunshine," he said more softly now. "I want you back - and yes, maybe I'm being totally selfish here - but I want _us _back; all of us. I miss that, Justin - I miss _you_. Please…..do this for us. All I'm asking is that you try." _Come on, Justin…come on….._

Justin sighed softly. He loved Brian so much; but could he do this for him? For _them_? As relieved as he was that he still craved his husband's touch as much as he ever did, and as badly as he needed Brian's support, he also knew deep down that Brian was right. Until he could address what had happened to him - to _them_ - in the past, they couldn't move forward, at least not the way he wanted. He wanted his life with Brian back - their happy, fulfilling life; not this constant feeling of being defective and jittery, not this feeling of guilt and inferiority, not this feeling of being dirty, no matter how much it may be displaced. He had hoped that just being with his husband again and feeling his strong, protective arms around him and hearing his soothing, familiar, loving voice would be enough to right all the wrongs that had happened to them, but somehow it wasn't quite enough to escape the feelings of shame and remorse he felt over what had happened. Worse of all, he knew that Brian was feeling a lot of the same emotions and that made him feel even more guilty.

He gazed up into the waiting but anxious hazel eyes for a few seconds; to Brian, it seemed like an eternity.

"Okay, Brian," he finally agreed. "I'll go talk to someone."

Brian let out a pregnant breath as he whispered, "I'm glad to hear that. I can make some inquiries with Alex - he's my psychologist friend - and see if he can recommend someone who specializes in….you know."

Justin stared into the relieved hazel eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know. But I do have one condition, though."

"Anything," Brian murmured, although he was a little nervous about Justin placing rules about seeking help. "What?"

Justin took a breath before plunging in. "I want _you_ to go, too."

Brian wasn't sure he had heard Justin correctly now that he had finally gotten him to agree. "What did you say?"

"I said….I'll go if you go with me."

"Well, yeah, I'll be there with you." How could Justin think he would let him go alone?

Justin shook his head slightly; he knew this man well enough to know exactly what he was saying, and it wasn't what he wanted. "_No, _Brian. I want you to talk to someone, too."

The meaning of what Justin was saying sunk in as Brian released the other man from his embrace and turned to look out onto the busy, rush-hour traffic below; even though Lawrenceville was a pretty decent distance away from Pittsburgh - that had been part of its charm in his husband's opinion - it still had its share of fairly heavy traffic when everyone was anxious to get away from the bustling business of the big city. He rubbed a hand through his hair in restless agitation as he replied, "I don't need to see anybody, Justin - we're talking about _you_." He stood there silently for a moment waiting for his husband's reaction before he felt Justin's arms wrap themselves around his body from behind; he stood there somewhat rigidly and tried hard not to cave in to the other man's touch as he felt his pulse speed up instinctively in response.

"No, Brian," Justin responded softly. "This has affected _both_ of us; partly in the same way but also differently. I want us _both_ to move on from this and _both_ of us to be made whole again. We both need this." He waited anxiously for Brian to answer; was he going to give him the old Brian Kinney, _I don't need anyone or anything_ shtick, or was he going to actually admit that he was right? He knew Brian had changed a great deal over the years, but sometimes he still seemed to feel a strong need to revert back into his shell for protection. Justin held his breath while he waited for his husband's response. He thought by now he knew what it would be - what he _hoped_ it would be - but he still wasn't entirely confident of his prediction.

He could feel Brian's slow, steady breaths as he rose slightly on his tiptoes and placed his head on top of Brian's shoulder. "Brian?" he whispered plaintively. He was almost afraid that Brian would remain silent and refuse to answer him before finally, the other man slowly turned around in his arms to face him and placed both of his own hands on either side of Justin's face.

"It's that important to you, Justin?" he asked softly, staring into the wide, sapphire-blue eyes that were peering back at him so intensely.

Justin licked his lips nervously to wet them briefly before he slowly nodded and whispered, "Yes. _You're _important to me," he admitted almost shyly. "_This_ is important to me; it's everything, Brian. Because without us, nothing else matters in the long run." He really did mean that - without Brian, he no longer would have the inspiration to paint, the ability to see life from every angle, and the willingness to persevere no matter what happened. Brian was his lifeblood, his touchstone. He always had been, and always would be. He wanted both of them made whole again, and wanted to put everything Prescott had done behind them. He was willing to seek out someone to help achieve those goals, but only if Brian was there with him so they could _both_ be helped.

Brian took a deep breath; he fucking hated the idea of expressing his emotions so openly to a stranger; it was one thing to finally have the ability to express how he really felt to Justin, the man he loved unquestioningly,but to speak in front of someone he didn't know and to discuss something so deeply personal scared the shit out of him. And he knew in a way it was a sort of emotional blackmail on Justin's part. But deep down, if it meant the difference between Justin getting the help he needed to completely heal or keeping everything bottled up inside of him, he had no choice. He would do it for him, and maybe, just maybe, he might also find some benefit for himself as well, if he was honest enough to admit it.

He sighed as he softly caressed the pale cheeks and finally allowed just a hint of an encouraging smile to appear on his face. "Okay, Sunshine," he whispered. "If it means you will go, too, I'll do it - for you."

The smile he received in return was almost enough to quell any reservations he had about what they were about to do as both men leaned their heads toward each other instinctively until their mouths came together for a kiss. Brian breathed in the intoxicating scent of his lover through his nose as the kiss deepened and he realized that somehow, someway, they would get through this, just like they always did.

As they eventually broke apart, he gazed into the blue eyes for a few seconds, drinking in the beautiful face before he whispered, "Let's go watch the sun set."

Justin nodded slightly as, arms around each other's waists, they walked over to the gazebo's couch and Brian lay down sideways with Justin stretched out in between his long legs. As the sun began its typical trek toward the horizon and the sky was once more bathed in a rainbow of gold, purple, and reddish-orange, the sounds below of the bustling traffic faded until only their soft breathing and the rustling of the wind through the patio trees were heard and Justin's eyes slowly fluttered closed as he lay peacefully in Brian's protective arms.


	18. Together We're Stronger Than Apart

_The Next Morning_

Brian studied his appearance in the bathroom mirror; Justin was still asleep after having a rather restless night in their bed last night. It had been the first time since they had returned to the loft that Justin had tossed and turned so much; he didn't know if their talk yesterday about seeking professional help had dredged up all the horrific memories once more, or if it was some sort of delayed, post-traumatic type of response that has caused him to be so fidgety. But it _did_ reinforce Brian's belief that his husband needed more help than he could give him and pointed out that Justin's treatment at the hands of that monster wasn't going to just disappear completely like his physical symptoms eventually would.

He sighed as he pulled down the dark-blue cashmere sweater he was wearing to straighten it. He was planning on contacting his friend Alex later this morning for a referral to a psychologist that he and Justin could ideally see at the same time. He had considered using Alex himself, but he thought better of it. He and the psychologist had too much of a past apart from the man's profession and he thought it would be preferable to use someone that neither he nor Justin were personally familiar with. Besides, he had a distinct feeling that Justin wouldn't respond too favorably to pouring his heart out to a man that Brian had fucked before, especially in light of the issue involved.

He wasn't sure if seeing someone at the same time was what Justin had had in mind yesterday when he had stipulated that they seek professional counseling together, but he hoped that would be acceptable to him. In a way, he knew it was going to be extremely painful to hear Justin repeat everything that had happened to him; in fact, he knew it would be _excruciating_ for both of them. Between what he had learned from Carl and Greg, and from what Justin had told him, he knew a large part of it already. But he also had his suspicions that his husband was deliberately keeping some of the details from him in a misguided attempt to spare him additional pain. Well, that wasn't going to happen; as much as he hated the idea of listening to every wrenching detail regarding what had transpired, he hated the idea even more of Justin having to disclose everything in private to a clinical stranger without him being there to support him. The two of them had persevered more effectively side by side and he would never want it any other way; that was the way it had always been and this wasn't going to be any different.

His worried ruminations were interrupted just then by a soft voice calling him from the bedroom.

"Brian?"

"I'm right here, Sunshine," he reassured his husband as he responded readily. He hurriedly smoothed some errant auburn hair down with his hand before turning to walk back into the bedroom. Justin was sitting up in bed, clad in a pair of those ratty, ridiculously-looking sweats that he always seemed to cling to like some emotional security blanket when he was upset or worried about something. Brian silently thought it was fortunate that he _was_ wearing them, because with Justin in his bed it was always extremely difficult not to want to make love to him all night long, especially after they spent any amount of time apart. Of course, this hadn't been a typical period of separation. It hadn't been due to Brian being on business or Justin fulfilling an art order. It had been due to a much more sinister reason. And as much as he knew – and welcomed – the fact that Justin yearned to be close again, he _also_ knew that Justin wasn't completely ready yet. His physical maladies were slowly disappearing and would soon be gone altogether, thankfully, but he was actually more concerned that Justin would take even longer to heal emotionally.

He remembered all too well the first time they had tried to make love after the assault at the prom; Justin had wanted to try then, too, but his fear of what had happened to him had overwhelmed his desire to be physically intimate. Would the same thing happen this time, too? There was a big difference between kissing his husband and making love, especially now without any physical barriers between them. As distasteful as it seemed, he had to ironically be grateful to Prescott that somehow in his twisted, evil mind he had been persuaded to use protection when he had been….he refused to even say it or even think any more about it as he forced himself to paste a soft smile on his face before he looked over at Justin.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Brian asked him as he sat down on the edge of the bed nearest to the blond and reached over to take his hand. He always felt like he had to walk a fine line between sounding too concerned versus showing the man he loved that he genuinely cared about how he was; he knew how much Justin normally detested feeling like an invalid or being smothered by too much attention. This was not your typical situation, however, and he instinctively felt that Justin needed a little extra TLC for the time being, so he wasn't afraid that his husband would shy away from his attempts to help.

Justin yawned briefly in response; he hadn't slept well at all last night. He had tossed and turned the entire time, trying hard not to awaken Brian every time he came up gasping for air after yet another nightmare. His husband had already woken up twice during the night to soothe his troubled mind; he had pulled him into his arms and caressed his stomach and arms while he softly cooed back reassuring words in his ear in an attempt to calm his rapidly-beating heart. It had helped somewhat to settle his roiling mind, and any other time he would have practically swooned over the loving, tender words being uttered from those magnificent and talented lips, but it had only helped temporarily. As soon as he drifted off to sleep in Brian's arms once more and Brian himself had fallen back into slumber, his mind would keep returning over and over again to that awful time when he had been at the mercy of that horrid man and the nightmares would begin anew.

He had managed to not startle Brian into wakefulness again during those other times, but it had still frightened him in their intensity and unrelenting vividness. Would he be destined to keep replaying the painful events over and over again in his dreams forever? He almost wished that, just like with the prom, he could simply block the entire incident out of his mind, but he knew that wasn't possible. He knew that wasn't the answer, either; even though he could only recall small parts of what had happened before at his prom, it still felt like there was a hollow space inside his brain where his memories should be. Not only had he blocked out some of the most horrible parts of his previous ordeal, but he had _also_ forgotten what was apparently one of the most joyful and life-altering events of his and Brian's lives. Brian and Daphne had tried their best to fill in the gaps about how he and Brian had danced and kissed like two lovers hopelessly enthralled with each other that night, but it just wasn't the same as actually reliving it in his own memories. It left him with a yearning to remember himself, to feel the same euphoric feelings that he must have felt at the knowledge that Brian had risked awkwardness and even embarrassment over attending a high school dance with a room full of teenagers, just to make him happy.

No, he didn't want to forget this, either, as much as he might be tempted to, because he knew that every event, no matter how tortuous and painful, made him what he was now and shaped what he would be in the future. For better or for worse, he wanted to remember – he _had_ to remember.

He suddenly realized he hadn't answered Brian's question; he looked into the soft hazel eyes and twisted his mouth in affection for this wonderful, amazing man softly rubbing the top of his hand comfortingly. "I'm okay," he answered somewhat vaguely; both of them knew that wasn't really true, but there was no point in stating the obvious at the moment. He figured that was going to come soon enough as it was anyway. "What time is it?"

Brian glanced over at their alarm clock located on the night table. "About eight-thirty," he told him.

"You're not going into work today?"

Brian shook his head silently in response, prepared for what he knew was going to be a disagreement; he discovered that he didn't have long to wait.

"Why not?"

"Justin…."

"Brian, don't treat me like an invalid!" Justin growled; he tried to pull his hand away in annoyance but Brian wouldn't let him.

"Justin, I don't think you're a fucking invalid!" he countered. "I can work from here at the loft almost just as well as I can from the office. Is it so terrible that I want to stay here today?"

Justin sighed. "Brian, you haven't been at work in days, and yeah, you can work from here just like you have some other times; but you also know it's not the same as being there to watch over everything. And if I recall correctly, you have that big meeting with World Dynamics this morning. You told me last week that their CEO would only meet with you personally because he doesn't trust anyone else not to fuck up his advertising. I'm not about to let you reschedule that meeting just so you can stay home and babysit me."

Brian looked at him in amazement; after everything Justin had just been through, he could still remember what he had told him last week about an ad campaign? And as much as he hated to admit it, Justin was right – he _was_ intending to do just that – call Clifton Davis at World Dynamics and explain regretfully that he would have to reschedule their meeting this morning, even though he knew from studying the storyboards the art department had tweaked for him that Kinnetik was more than ready for their presentation to him. While Justin was hesitant to leave their loft since he had been through his ordeal, Brian also knew how he would resent him for changing his schedule just to stay home with him. He realized that he was busted…..

He peered into the defiant blue eyes resignedly. "Okay, okay….I'll go get ready for my meeting, Sunshine," he agreed. "But what are you going to do today while I'm gone?"

Justin looked back at him in annoyance. "Well, I'm not going to go up to the roof and jump off, if that's what you're worried about."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Princess," Brian couldn't help retorting. He wanted to help and support Justin but at the same time he wasn't going to encourage any theatrics, either, because he knew Justin wouldn't want that. "I was just asking what your plans were for today, that's all."

Justin sighed. "I don't really know," he answered honestly. He hadn't thought beyond getting out of the bed.

"You could try and work on your painting," Brian responded hopefully. Justin hadn't so much as even glanced at his current work downstairs, or even voiced interest in starting something new; normally whenever the blond was emotionally charged up about something – good or bad – the first thing he did was try and express it through his artwork. It troubled him greatly, then, that Justin hadn't so much as picked up a paintbrush since they had returned.

To Brian's disappointment, his husband shook his head.

"No, I don't want to," Justin told him softly.

"Why, Justin?" Brian asked plaintively, unable to keep from pressing him for an answer. He continued to slowly rub small, light circles over the top of Justin's hand as he waited for his response.

Justin gently pulled his hand away from Brian and turned to look over at the end of the bed, unable to meet his husband's worried gaze. "I'm just not interested," he finally whispered.

Brian's heart broke at the mournful sound in his husband's voice. He realized at that moment just why it was so necessary for them to seek counseling, as much as his pride and need for privacy argued against it. This wasn't about _him_ – it was about finding a way for Justin to move beyond what had happened and rebuild his life – _their_ lives together.

He took a breath before replying, "I'm going to call Alex this morning." When Justin turned back to look at him questioningly, he explained, "He's the psychologist friend I know."

Justin snorted softly in realization as he recalled who he was. "And you know him _how?_"

"Come on, Justin," the brunet chided him softly. "That was years ago and you know it." They both knew that Brian hadn't been with any other man in years – not since before they had moved here to Lawrenceville, not since that monster had invaded their lives. It had taken Prescott's unexpected appearance and interest in Justin to make Brian realize just how deeply he loved his husband, but since that eventual epiphany, he had never had any other interest in being with anyone else. "I just want to get some names of other counselors," he told him. Now that he had brought up the subject, though, Brian figured he might as well discuss another concern he had. "About us both going to counseling…" he began.

Justin's eyes flashed. "You're backing down, aren't you?"

Brian huffed in irritation over the thought that Justin could have such little faith in his promises. "No, I'm not," he growled. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay with us both seeing the same psychologist at the same time, that's all." Despite his attempt not to, he was starting to get just a little exasperated with Justin's lack of trust in him. He knew his husband was emotionally fragile at the moment, but surely he didn't question his devotion to him or his desire to help make him whole again?

"Well, just think about it," he said a little curtly as he began to stand up. "You can let me know later."

He felt Justin grab his forearm before he had a chance to leave. "I'm sorry, Brian," the blond told him softly. "I know you're just trying to help."

Brian sighed as he sat back down on the bed and reached to cup a pale cheek. "I love you, Justin," he said simply as he lightly rubbed his knuckles across the soft flesh. "I just want you well again."

Justin pursed his lips together as his eyes began to well with tears. "I know you do," he answered softly. "That's what I want, too." He reached up to grasp Brian's hand and bring it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "I miss you."

"I'm right here, Sunshine," he assured him, even though he knew what Justin meant. He missed that, too. "And I'm not going anywhere," he whispered back.

Justin nodded silently before his face filled with regret and pain. He pulled Brian toward him as their lips met together in a tender, gentle kiss – a symbol of their mutual hope that soon they would be back together in every sense of the word. "I love you so much," Justin whispered as they broke apart.

Brian gazed into the bright pools of blue for a couple of seconds and gave him a slight smile; he couldn't help leaning over and kissing Justin's nose as he said, "I'll be back as soon as I can get away, okay?"

Justin nodded as Brian reluctantly released his hand and stood up to go change into more professional attire. Justin watched him silently as he walked into the bathroom with his suit to shave, wondering how Fate had known that night so long ago how much he would need this man now. He couldn't imagine going through any of this without Brian. He hated the fact that he had to pull Brian into his drama with him, but if he had to do it alone…well, he wasn't even sure that he could.

So just what_ was _he going to do today while Brian was gone? He couldn't just sit in this bed all day, although in a perverse sort of way that held some sense of comfort for him. This was his cocoon, his warm and safe nest that only he and Brian occupied. Here he could always feel or at least smell his husband's soothing presence even when he wasn't physically there. Here he knew no harm would come to him and only happy memories reigned. But sitting here in his familiar, comforting domain wasn't very productive.

He slowly, then, arose from the bed and twisted his legs around to sit on the side as he contemplated what he would do today. He was actually getting tired of staying trapped inside the loft, as comfortable as it was. Brian's surprise remodel of the rooftop had been a wonderful surprise, and the two of them had made frequent use of it since its unveiling. He could go up there and wile away the time as he did before, watching the people going about their business below. But that only made him long to do the same thing. In a way it was such a mundane, trivial activity – being able to go to work, grab a bite to eat, visit friends. But to him it meant so much. It meant a gradual return to normalcy and he craved that desperately.

In his mind, he logically knew that awful man was finally dead and gone and would never haunt him or Brian again. But in his heart and in the memories still fresh and raw in his mind, he couldn't quite let it go, he wasn't sure if he could _ever_ let it go, not completely anyway.

Freshly shaved now and wearing one of his favorite, dark-gray Armani suits, Brian walked back into their bedroom fifteen minutes later, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He fucking hated wearing the damn things, but he knew in the case of the stodgy, old-fashioned CEO of World Dynamics that the man would expect such traditional dress out of Kinnetik's owner, so he knew he would have to endure it, at least until his meeting with him was over.

Justin couldn't help smiling at his husband fondly as Brian walked toward him like a little boy looking for a lost puppy; the man was always terrible when it came to fixing his tie properly. "Come here," he said softly as Brian slowly walked over to him and sat down on the bed next to him.

"Not so tight," he grumbled a little as Justin pulled the knot snugly against his Adam's apple.

"You never complained about that before," Justin couldn't help teasing him as he concentrated on his task.

Brian watched fascinated as just the tip of Justin's tongue snaked out of his mouth as he focused on fixing the rebellious piece of apparel. It was amazing sometimes just how much of an affect this man could have on him with such a simple action; he could actually feel himself growing hard just by watching the little, pink bit of tongue flick across the plump lips that he knew could be so talented when they wanted to be. How he wished they could be providing some much-needed attention right now to a certain part of his anatomy that was becoming quite uncomfortably tight. He couldn't help squirming just a little at the thought, an action that did not go unnoticed by his husband.

Justin's eyes widened in revelation – he knew that look well, and he knew why Brian was fidgeting. Normally it turned him on and caused him to make short shrift of Brian's clothing, whether he was about to leave or not. Up until now, it had always been like some sort of unquenchable thirst between them, a fire that had to be extinguished in the most mind-blowing, passionate way. That had always been a distinct advantage since Brian had opened Kinnetik; as the owner of it, he could change his schedule at will and come in late, if the need warranted. And when they became horny, that definitely warranted it.

Justin stared into his husband's eyes now, though, and saw something he had never seen before – _hesitation_, and that unaccustomed look of uncertainty on the handsome, bronzed face he knew so intimately caused a profound feeling of sadness to wash over him. Sadness that Brian had to silently ask him whether he wanted to have sex with him, to feel him inside him. Sadness that he, too, didn't know how to respond to something that would normally not have even been a question in the first place. Any other time, they would have just ripped each other's clothing off and pulled each other down onto the bed in a rutting frenzy of sex, passion, and love. Now, though, it was like they had to take baby steps around each other and he fucking hated it.

Brian knew instinctively what Justin was thinking as he gazed into his eyes and reached up to take Justin's hand in his. He knew, though, that if he voiced his realization aloud it would only serve to embarrass Justin and make him feel even worse. He brushed the pale knuckles across his lips gently before clearing his throat. "I'll be home as soon as I can," he said softly as he reluctantly let go of his husband's hand and stood up. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Justin's eyes rose to meet his briefly before he silently nodded and watched Brian walk away. He heard the jingling of Brian's keys as he scooped them up from the hook by his desk and then his polished dress shoes clacking on the steps as he walked down to the foyer to leave. The quiet closing of the front door signaled that he was finally alone with his thoughts as the loft was bathed in eerie silence.

Days of pent-up frustration, anger, and sorrow welled up inside of him as he tightly curled his fists into the sheet in helplessness; he scrunched his eyes tightly together but he was unsuccessful in stopping the rain of tears that began to fall as his shoulders shook from the force of his sobs.

* * *

_Thirty Minutes Later_

"Brian!" Cynthia called out to him as soon as he opened the front door. "Thank God! I was getting worried – you _do_ remember your meeting at 10?" It had been several days since Brian had been at work; he had mysteriously called Ted a few days ago to advise him that some sort of emergency had come up and he would have to be away for a while. He had stayed on the phone just long enough to tell him that he and Cynthia were in charge while he was gone and then had abruptly hung up. The only time they had been able to reach him since then had been the day before yesterday, when Brian had called in for just a few minutes to make sure there weren't any fires that just couldn't wait to be put out until his return.

She was extremely relieved, then, that Brian hadn't forgotten his presence was needed this morning for their meeting with Clifton Davis; she knew the man would steadfastly refuse to listen to any "subordinate," as he always called them. She had tried to reach Brian a little while ago to remind him but the phone had simply gone straight to voicemail. "I left you a message – didn't you get it?"

Brian pulled out a phone she hadn't seen before and looked at the display; he had had to buy a new one to replace the other one that Prescott had stolen from him. Even if he hadn't destroyed it, he would have never wanted to see any evidence of the man again. "I'm sure it's on there somewhere," he replied, shrugging. "I'm here now, though, so it doesn't matter. Are the graphics all set up?" he asked, trying hard to focus on the task at hand.

Thoughts of the man he loved, however, were still uppermost in his mind; he just couldn't help it. He hated to leave Justin alone at the loft, but he knew it had to be done. Even if he hadn't had this crucial meeting that required his presence here at Kinnetik, Brian knew Justin would start to resent him hovering over him all the time at home. He just hoped he could get this meeting over with in short order so he could return and make sure Justin was all right.

"Yeah," Cynthia was telling him as Ted heard his boss's voice and came walking up. "They've got everything ready to go," she reported.

"Theodore," Brian acknowledged him politely as he glanced around the rest of the office. "I see everything's still in order." At least no one seemed in a panic mode at the moment; they didn't even really look up from their work as he had come in. He took that as a good sign that the confidence he had in his assistant and his accountant hadn't been misplaced and they had, indeed, kept everything from going to Hell while he had been away. Of course, he would have given anything if the need hadn't been there in the first place but sadly that had been impossible.

"Yeah, you could say that," Ted responded congenially enough. "But we could never replace the big gun. We're glad you're back."

Brian smiled slightly at the compliment, however odd it may be. "Thanks, Theodore. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look over the World Dynamics campaign before Davis gets here. Cynthia, show him into the smaller conference room when he arrives and make sure he gets his customary Danish and coffee to put him in a good mood for me, will you?" he asked as he began to walk down the hallway toward his office.

"Got it," she said just before Brian reached his office and opened the door to enter his inner sanctum. He walked over to place his briefcase down on the glass-topped desk and moved around to sit in his chair. He took out his laptop and placed it on top of the desk. Flipping it open, he waited somewhat impatiently for it to boot up.

A few minutes later, he had the entire ad campaign in front of him to review; as hard as he tried to concentrate on it, however, his mind kept traveling back to Justin. How was he doing on his own at home? Was he afraid to be alone? Was he up on their rooftop, watching the sights below like they had done before? Or was it too much to hope that maybe, just maybe, his husband had found the incentive to pick up a brush and begin his current, unfinished product anew or maybe start a whole new one? Brian sighed; no, as much as he would like that to be the case, somehow he knew it wasn't happening. He had seen too much evidence of Justin's refusal to resume his painting to wish that he was doing that in his absence; it was obvious that in order for Justin to return to one of his biggest passions in life, he was going to need help to do that, help that he wasn't capable of providing him.

He rubbed his hand across his face in frustration, thinking back to his and Justin's last few minutes at the loft before he left. God, how he had wanted to make love to him on their bed then, and how fucked it had felt to know that he couldn't do it, didn't _dare_ do it. He couldn't believe that he had been forced to stop himself from following through on his desires, but he couldn't take the chance of hurting Justin. He wasn't sure he was completely healed physically yet, for one thing, and perhaps of even more concern to him, he didn't want Justin to freak out if they tried to be intimate and he started having terrifying flashbacks of what he had been through with Prescott. Passion had always been such an important part of their relationship – they could never get enough of touching each other, kissing each other, holding each other, making love to each other. What would happen if they could never do all of that again? He didn't even want to consider the possibility, but he _did_ know one thing – he would never leave Justin, _could_ never leave him, no matter what. He was in this for the long haul.

That reminded him of what he needed to do as he flipped open his cell phone and dialed a familiar number. He waited a couple of rings before a baritone voice answered his personal line. "Alex Rivera," he said.

"Alex," Brian said softly. "It's Brian Kinney."

He could almost hear the smile on the other end as Alex responded, "Brian! Where you been keeping yourself? Haven't seen you at Woody's or the Baths since you became an old married man," he teased. "Speaking of which, how's the hubby?" Alex had met Justin quite a while ago, not too long after he and Brian had had their talk about Justin's emotional problems. They had run into him at Woody's a few weeks after that, and while Alex hadn't divulged to Justin exactly how he and Brian knew each other, he didn't have any problems realizing how special this younger man was to his friend; even without his training as a psychologist, it didn't take much to see that Brian was totally hooked on the blond, blue-eyed artist. He _had_ been just a little shocked, though, when he had heard about Brian actually marrying Justin, but he had to give the man credit – Justin Taylor had accomplished what he never thought anyone could ever do – rope in the great, devil-may-care, I-only-fuck-them-once Brian Kinney. He frowned, though, as he noticed Brian seemingly hesitating while he waited for a response. "Brian?" he asked curiously.

Brian sighed. "That's…..who I need to talk to you about, Alex – have you got a few minutes?"

Alex frowned; was there trouble in gay paradise after all? Was it too much to expect that someone who had had a lifestyle like Brian's could give it up for one man? "Sure. What's up?"

He proceeded to listen astounded to what his friend told him about what had happened to both him and Justin over the course of the past week; he had heard about Prescott breaking out of jail with his twin brother, and he had known about the man's obsession with Justin, having heard it both from Brian and from reading the news accounts of the trial, but the police must have done a hell of a job keeping this latest bit of information from the press. He hadn't heard anything about Justin being kidnapped, or about his ordeal. "Shit," he whispered in stunned disbelief. "I can't believe that; I'm so sorry, Brian." He shook his head – how much could a couple endure? Especially Justin – the poor man had now been subjected to a baseball bat bashing, a bombing, two kidnappings, and now rape. That would be enough to break most men; it was no wonder Justin was traumatized.

"Yeah, me, too," Brian told him, unable to hide the sorrow from his voice. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"No problem," Alex assured him. "We can meet wherever you want."

"No," Brian told him quickly. "Not that kind of help. I mean, I appreciate your offer, Alex, but I was mainly just looking for some suggestions as to who we could get to talk to both of us together. I've already persuaded Justin to seek out some help; no offense, but I think under the circumstances I think it would be best for us to see someone that I don't already have a personal history with."

Alex chuckled softly. "Yeah, I see your point." He sobered quickly as he asked, "You want some suggestions for other possible psychologists the two of you can see together, right?"

"Yeah," Brian confirmed.

"I have to say – I'm surprised you're willing to go, too, Brian," Alex couldn't help saying.

"Yeah, well, I guess I am, too," Brian admitted. "But I want to be there…..for Justin."

Alex digested that information with surprise; the man had definitely changed since he had met his husband. "Okay," he said. "Any particular preference for the kind of therapist you want to see? Male? Female?"

Brian hadn't really given that much thought; he had been too busy up until now simply trying to persuade Justin to seek outside help. "I….I'm not sure. Who do _you_ think would be best?"

"Well, knowing the issues that you need addressed, I would probably recommend someone who can relate to the physical difficulties you're having. In fact, there is one psychologist I know personally who's gay and male; I think he might be ideal for what you need."

"Has he had experience dealing with, with…?" Even now, he still tripped over that awful word that had almost consumed them relentlessly for the past week.

Fortunately, he didn't have to say it out loud. "Yes, he's handled several rape victims," Alex assured him softly. "You'd be surprised how prevalent that can be, no matter what your sexual orientation is. It's not just a heterosexual issue, Brian."

_How I wish it were_, Brian couldn't help thinking. _Then this would have never happened to him_. "No, I guess it's not," he replied. "Can you give me his name and number?"

"Sure," Alex told him. "Hang on a second." He quickly scrolled through his cell phone contact list until he reached the name he was looking for. "His name's Mark Anderson and his office is over on Woodson Avenue. His number is 555-2870. I can give him a call and provide him with some preliminary information if that's all right with you. That way he can be a little more prepared for when you call for your first appointment with him."

Brian sighed; he knew this had to be done, but he still wasn't sure how effective it would be. He did know one thing, though – he was quickly running out of options as to how to help Justin, and he desperately wanted his husband back to normal again. He knew Justin wanted that, too. "I'd appreciate that," he told his friend. "Tell him that I'll give him a call later today to set up an appointment, would you?"

"Will do," Alex told him. "And Brian," he said just before they hung up. "I hope he's able to help him."

"Yeah," Brian said softly. "Me, too, Alex. Me, too."

As he hung up from his conversation with his friend, Brian glanced over at the corner of his desk to peer intently at the photo of him and Justin that had been taken on their honeymoon. It showed the two of them standing on the boat that had taken them into Mykonos. He recalled how excited and happy Justin had been that day, just like a thrilled, exuberant, curious child experiencing something for the first time. His eyes had sparkled in delight over his first look at the white-washed, stone buildings clustered almost haphazardly along the coastline and the marina festooned with all sorts of colorful ships, even that ridiculous pelican that had been named….what was it? Yeah….Petros. He had been jumping up and down in barely-contained anticipation as they had neared their destination and he had persuaded an elderly couple to take their picture while they had leaned against the ship's railing with their arms around each other's waists. It was the day after they had been married in Vermont, and he had never seen Justin look happier than he had at that moment. And they had remained just as happy – until now. He wanted that man back again – he wanted the sparkle of joy back in his eyes again, he wanted him not to have to be afraid to turn around for fear of who might be behind him. He wanted Justin's passion for art to return again. He wanted to feel his husband's touch, feel their bodies joined as one again, and hear his husband's cry of ecstasy as they climaxed in passionate bliss. He wanted all of that back so desperately.

He reached over to pick the photo up and slowly rub his finger over Justin's picture. "We're going to find our way back there, Sunshine," he whispered. "I promise."


	19. The Heart of a Friend

Justin wiped his sweaty palm against his pant leg as he stood in front of the loft's entrance; he couldn't stand being a virtual prisoner inside his and Brian's home anymore. Enough was enough, he decided. He had spent the hour since Brian left trying to watch a little television, listen to music and observe the bustling pedestrian traffic below from the special rooftop room Brian had made for them; he had even fleetingly considered picking up a paintbrush in an attempt to resume his half-completed painting in his studio. All of those ideas, however, merely left him feeling like some trapped animal unable to escape from his cage, except that this cage was mainly in his head.

Since the prom, he had never thought he would ever have to confront this feeling again; after all, he had persevered through the bombing and had come out relatively unscathed, he had even triumphed over Prescott's first attempt at drugging and kidnapping him, thanks he knew in large part to Brian. What was so different this time? But as he stood there, here it was – this sensation of losing control, of being afraid, of feeling like someone was behind him and following his every move. He knew it was irrational and unsubstantiated, he knew it didn't make sense; but it still haunted him regardless. And that was what was presently keeping him from turning the doorknob and leaving his self-made prison.

Did he have the courage to do it? To leave the comfort of his and Brian's oasis in hopes of regaining a degree of normalcy again? Did he have a choice? What sort of choice was there between hiding from the rest of the world versus beginning to live a normal life again?

There _was_ no choice – no question – what had to be done. Taking a deep breath, he reached over for the cold, antique glass door knob and turned it to the left. He slowly opened the door to peer outside; the sidewalk traffic was blessedly light for late-morning – only a few people were present on either side of the street.

Letting out a breath of relief, Justin rather hesitantly turned to close the door to their loft behind him and stood there on the sidewalk, unsure what to do next as he felt the light breeze of a warm spring day lightly caressing his body. He hated how tentative he was acting; any other time, he would be striding purposefully away, either to a nearby coffee shop to get his first jolt of cappuccino for the day or perhaps down to one of the artisan shops located on either side of the street. In the relatively short time he and Brian had set up residence in Lawrenceville, he had come to know a great deal of his fellow artists merely by walking around the neighborhood and introducing himself. He loved to share his passion for art with them and discover how each person's interest was transferred to their favorite medium. It was during one such journey a little over a year ago that he had met a man about the same age as him – Finley Snider. Finley's favorite type of material to use was copper, and he was a magnificent creator of unique, one-of-a-kind jewelry fashioned out of the polished metal. It was Finley that Justin had commissioned to make Brian's custom-made wedding bracelet that spelled out the word _Loved_ in Greek, the bracelet that Brian had never taken off his wrist until that horrible night not so long ago when he had been _forced_ to take it off.

He swallowed some bile that unexpectedly rose to his throat; just when he thought he was putting Prescott behind him, the man managed to surge back into his mind again. Why had he ever agreed to meet Prescott in the first place? He should have known that anyone who would place such a weird stipulation on the purchase of a painting could not have been trusted. All this time – all this time, Brian had been blaming himself for what had happened, when the truth was _he_ was to blame. _He_ was the one who had been stupid enough to believe that Lane was simply a harmless admirer; that he could go out to dinner with the man and that would be the end of it. And even when he had had the chance to end it right there, he had fallen prey to the man's charms and had continued to see him, despite Brian's admonition that he couldn't be trusted.

If he had only listened to Brian in the first place, none of this would have happened. When was he ever going to learn not to trust his heart all the time? When was he going to stop being so gullible? Maybe he had deserved what had happened to him; _he_ had been the foolish one, _he_ had been deceived by Prescott's promises to take care of him, _he_ had been the one that Prescott had pursued until he had given in. Brian was the one who was blameless in this whole situation, and yet he was the one who was blaming himself for letting it happen.

"Justin?"

He jumped at the sound of someone unexpectedly calling his name.

"Hey, it's only me, Baby," he heard a familiar voice as he turned around to see Emmett standing a few feet away. "I didn't mean to scare you." Emmett peered into his friend's face – for a few seconds, Justin hadn't looked just startled; he had looked downright terrified. "Justin – Sweetie? What's wrong?"

Justin tried hard to plaster on a casual-looking expression as he tried to come up with some inane, pat answer in greeting, but he took one look at Emmett's concerned face and he lost it. The tears welled up in his eyes and he merely shook his head mutely in reply.

_My God_, Emmett couldn't help thinking as he stared at his friend. _What on earth?_ This was not the Justin he knew – this was not the vivacious, glowing, happy-go-lucky little artist that he had come to know and love. This was not the man who had been disgustingly happy since he and Brian had gotten married a year ago and had moved here to their new loft. This wasn't anyone he was familiar with at all, and it scared the shit out of him. "Justin?" he repeated softly, walking slowly over to his friend as if he were afraid the blond would run away from him. Justin looked beaten and whipped, barely resembling the life-loving, kindred spirit that Emmett had come to know and identify with so strongly.

"Let's go inside," he decided abruptly, gently reaching over to place his arm around the blond's shoulder and slowly lead him back to the loft's door nearby. He was surprised to feel his friend actually flinch at his touch for a second, almost as if he had burned him, before he felt him relax somewhat.

"Where's your key?" he asked. He noticed Justin's hand clenched around something and gently pried his fingers open to reveal Justin's key ring still clasped in his hand. "Let me have it, Baby," he said softly; finally after a few seconds, Justin wordlessly handed him the keys.

Emmett frowned as he turned the key in the lock and opened the door to let Justin enter ahead of him. He watched as his friend almost dragged himself back down the hallway and promptly plopped down on the studio's leather couch to place his head in his hands and stare down at the floor.

Emmett was dumbfounded; he had driven out to Lawrenceville in hopes of persuading Justin to have lunch with him and now this; just what the hell had happened? He had been out of town for a couple of weeks with Cal at a family reunion in Alabama; the last time he had spoken to Justin the man had been chirping nonstop about his latest art project that some bank had commissioned; he had been so ecstatic that they would be paying him a five-figure amount just for the one painting that Emmett could barely get in a word edgewise. Now as he gazed down at the dejected-looking, silent figure with his head hung down and his eyes cast toward the floor, he could scarcely believe this was the same person. He could think of only one good reason why Justin would be acting so differently – the same reason it always was, even though it had been a long time since he had seen him looking this way.

He slowly, almost gingerly sat down on the couch next to his friend, somehow sensing that sudden moves weren't a good idea at the moment. "Justin," he said softly. "What's going on, Sweetie? Did something happen while I was gone? Did you and the Big Bad Wolf have a fight? Because you of all people know his bark is worse than his bite."

Emmett was startled to see the tears glistening in his friend's eyes as Justin at last raised his head to stare back at him; it was almost as if he were acknowledging him for the first time. "No, Em," he whispered. "It's nothing like that." He snorted derisively. "I wish it was that simple."

"Then what, Baby?" he said worriedly. "Your art project fall through?"

Justin shook his head; he almost wanted to laugh at the irony. "Right now my art is the _last_ thing on my mind, trust me."

Emmett shook his head in confusion. "Then what? You know you can tell me."

Justin sighed as he gazed straight ahead at the large windows overlooking the street outside; he had looked at that same scenery so many times before, normally while he was working on his latest project. When his hand got tired or he just needed a little break from his painting, he enjoyed watching the hustle and bustle of the outside world going about their normal, everyday business right outside his loft. Now, as he gazed out the windows at the scenes unfolding outside, it merely filled him with a sense of emptiness and a longing for what used to be – and may never be again.

He finally turned to look once more into his friend's worried face – Emmett was such a dichotomy at times. Typically the main jokester within his and Brian's circle of friends, always the cutting edge, fashion icon, and normally one prone to melodramatic queen-outs when he perceived the situation called for it, he could also be a rock to lean against, a sympathetic ear when you needed it, and a blunt counterpoint when it was demanded. Perhaps right now, Justin needed all three.

He licked his lips a little nervously before saying simply, "It's about Prescott."

"Prescott?" That was the last thing Emmett expected to hear. He knew all about the man who had pursued his friend for months, and what he had subjected him to; what Brian and Justin had both had to go through to get rid of him afterward could fill up a minivan. The fucker deserved nothing more than to rot in jail for the rest of his life, and that's what Emmett assumed he was doing. So why was Justin bringing him up now? "What about him?" he asked.

"He's dead."

Emmett's eyes widened in astonishment. "Dead?"

Justin nodded silently in confirmation.

Emmett paused for a few seconds to digest that bit of unexpected information before stating, "Well, after what that man put you through, Honey, that's the best fucking news I've heard in a long time!" He began to smile, figuring the man had finally gotten what he deserved and had been killed somehow in a prison feud or something, but he noticed Justin didn't look either relieved or happy about it. "You should be glad he's gone, Justin….you are, aren't you? Now you don't have to ever worry about him again." Emmett knew his friend had initially been fascinated, as well as just a little flattered, by the attention the affluent, handsome man had bestowed upon him, but he _also_ knew that it had been short-lived; Justin's heart had always been focused on one man and one man only – Brian Kinney.

"I wish it were that easy," the blond said at last, his shaky voice barely above a whisper.

"Why isn't it?" Emmett countered, not understanding how that fact couldn't generate an enormous feeling of relief in his friend; he knew what Justin had been through over the past couple of years, and it had all been because of Prescott. "You said he's dead." He waited for his friend to answer, but Justin simply stood up to walk over to the small kitchen located against the opposite wall; he opened up the compact refrigerator to retrieve a bottled water and took a couple of large gulps before turning around to face him. Taking a deep breath, Justin bit his lip, contemplating whether he was up to rehashing the whole sordid episode once more. He wasn't sure he could; but he had brought it up, and if he could talk to anyone other than Brian about this whole dreadful experience, it would be Emmett. Certainly not his mother, or Debbie, or even Daphne; right or wrong, he felt that only a man would truly comprehend what had happened to him and how it had affected him. And he _needed_ to talk to someone right now.

Finally walking over once more to sit next to his friend, who stared at him silently in puzzlement, he finished drinking the last sips of his water to bolster his courage before tossing the now-empty plastic bottle in the nearby waste basket. He inhaled one more breath and let it out before raising his eyes to meet Emmett's gaze. "It started about two weeks ago," he began quietly.

_

* * *

_

_Thirty Minutes Later…. _

Emmett sat there, stunned, as Justin finished describing everything that had transpired since he had been out of town; never, even in his wildest imagination – and he probably had the most vivid one of any queen in Pittsburgh – never in his worst nightmares would he have thought of this happening to Justin. Not his friend; not the sweet, passionate, head-over-heels-in-love-with-his-husband Justin that he knew. Not the man who had already previously endured a near-fatal head injury and a explosion, not to mention a drugging and kidnapping at the hands of the same man who had just put him through such an unspeakable act of violation and terror. As Justin finished his story, Emmett realized why Prescott's death had been only a hollow victory, because while the man himself was gone for good, what he had done would be lingering for a long time to come.

In spite of the horrific details that Justin had told him – and from what he had said, Emmett could only hope that he hadn't left anything out, because what he _had_ told him had been horrific enough – he had noticed his friend hadn't cracked, hadn't broken down in a bucket of sad tears, hadn't really reacted at all, but had instead sat there reciting what had happened to him in almost a monotone. It was as if he were describing what had happened to someone else,Emmett thought, as he watched his friend stare down at his hands in his lap, looking even more petite than he actually was.

But he didn't need a therapy license to know what Justin was doing, or why he was doing it – he was in shock and maybe even in denial a little over what had happened. And as much as he loved his friend dearly – and he knew how strongly Brian loved him, too – he _also_ knew that Justin needed more help than either he or Brian would be able to provide for him. He had already learned that painful lesson in life himself several years ago during Ted's meth addition.

Now, as he looked over at Justin, whose eyes were still cast downward, he wondered just how he could get that suggestion across to him without his friend resenting his interference. Justin, though, had freely told him what had happened; hopefully, too, that meant he would be open to his ideas on how someone more qualified could help him triumph over his ordeal.

"Uh…Justin, I really don't know what to say," Emmett began softly. "Somehow, just telling you how sorry I am doesn't come even close." He let out a breath before continuing. "I...I had no idea. There was nothing in the papers down south about it and I haven't seen any of the gang since Cal and I got back – you're the first one I've run into since we returned yesterday afternoon." He had always made a point of keeping in touch with Justin since they had first met – the two of them would often bond over drinks as they discussed typical boyfriend woes or other changes occurring in their lives; their personalities had meshed from almost the first moment they had known each other, and over the years it had evolved into a deep friendship born of common interests and personalities. They were both almost too goodhearted and compassionate for their own good. But it had also made them kindred spirits in a lot of ways, too, and Emmett was hoping to use that to his advantage at the moment.

He waited now for Justin to say something but to his dismay he remained noticeably silent. Obviously he was going to have to push him just a bit more to get him to open up and be receptive to the idea of help; simply his reaction to him earlier outside near the loft's entrance was indication enough that what had happened to his friend had had a lasting effect on him, which was certainly understandable.

"Justin…How has Brian been handling all of this?" His friend had described in vivid detail his husband's role in what had happened, from being used as the conduit of Prescott's manipulations leading him to a rundown mansion, to Brian's use of his cell phone to find out where the man had taken him and all the way up to their eventual reunion at some remote cabin near the Alleghany National Forest. Brian was always acting like he was the tough one, and no doubt he was continuing to do that now, mainly for Justin's sake, but he _also_ knew that Brian wasn't nearly as invincible as he let on, either. Especially when it came to the man whose heart had firmly captured his so long ago.

His suspicions were confirmed as he watched Justin's head lift and slowly fasten a glassy-looking stare on him. His friend blinked almost like he was coming out of a trance as tears formed in his eyes.

"I…..I think he blames himself for what happened, when it was all my fault," he whispered to Emmett.

Emmett frowned as he stared back at Justin incredulous. "_Your_ fault? Sweetie, how is this _your_ fault?"

Justin swallowed a lump in his throat and pursed his lips together briefly before he told his friend, "I didn't listen to Brian when he first showed up at the auction. Brian tried to tell me it was dangerous to accept dinner with someone I didn't even know. He tried to warn me that I was making a mistake and I didn't listen to him. If I hadn't agreed to meet Prescott for dinner in the first place none of this would have ever happened; none of it." He shook his head in self-flagellation. "How could I have been so fucking stupid, Emmett?"

Emmett's eyes flashed. "Now you listen to me, Justin Taylor! You are _not_ to blame for ANY of this, do you understand me?"

Emmett's harsh tone shocked Justin as his eyes grew large at the unexpected rise in his friend's voice.

"Don't you even go there, Justin! Number one – you only agreed to go out to dinner with the man because you knew how much the money would help Vic's House. And as much as I know that Brian loves you – and _has_ loved you from Day One – he was doing a very poor job of showing it at the time. _Anyone_ would have been flattered by the attention he gave you! And I know from what you told me that once you realized how much you still loved Brian, you broke it off with Prescott even though you didn't even know if you and Brian would ever get back together. So don't go blaming yourself for any of what happened, Sweetie! That is so wrong on all levels…do you understand?"

Justin sniffed in reply – torn up not only over what had happened to him, but also touched beyond words for Emmett's defense of him and even Brian. He wordlessly accepted a tissue Emmett snatched from a nearby box with a slight smile as he wiped his eyes with the cloth and nodded. "I know…..in my head I know that's true," he admitted softly. "But that still doesn't erase the pain – or the guilt – that I still can't help feeling. Maybe if I wasn't so soft-hearted all the time….."

Emmett risked Justin flinching at his touch as he reached over to gently grasp his friend's wrist; to his relief, Justin didn't move or pull away from it. "Baby, that's what makes you _you_. That's what makes you so special, and that is what Brian and everyone else loves about you, don't you see that?"

A small whimper escaped Justin's lips as he looked over at his friend who was now leaning toward him. "But it makes me hurt so much inside," he said. He sighed. "Sometimes I just wish I could be more hard-hearted."

Emmett removed his hand from Justin's wrist to place it around his shoulders as he softly chided him, "No, you don't. You would never want to be that way. We have enough cold-hearted bastards in the world, Baby. We need more people like you in the world. It's not fair that you're the kind of person who winds up being hurt as a result, but don't ever change the way you are, Justin. Don't let that fucker win. You _will_ get through this, because I know as soft-hearted a person as you are, you're also a very _strong_ person, and you have a man that loves you deeply – _two_ men, actually," he teased. "Just don't let it go to your head or tell Brian about it – or Cal."

He finally evoked a slight smile out of his friend as he grinned back at him before Justin's face sobered once more.

"I'm not sure how to do that, Em," he said truthfully.

Emmett nudged Justin's shoulder briefly with his head before he stared into his friend's troubled blue eyes. "Have you thought about getting some outside help?" he asked gently, afraid that he would get a negative response from his friend in light of his suggestion. To his surprise, though, Justin didn't seem too upset about the idea.

"Brian actually suggested that, too," he admitted to Emmett's shock as he looked at him.

Emmett pulled back just a bit to look more easily into his friend's eyes to make sure he was being serious. "He _did_?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah – he thought it would help. He was going to ask his friend Alex today for some possible names of therapists we could see."

"The psychologist friend?"

Justin smiled wryly. "You know him, too."

Emmett grinned back at him. "Yeah, Sweetie, everybody knows Alex; he hangs out at a lot of the same spots all the queers do. You've met before, remember?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah, I remember meeting him at Woody's once when we ran into him there. I didn't realize until today, though, that Brian had asked him for advice about how to help me after I got hit with the bat." He still recalled how shocked he had been at his husband's admission that he had sought help for him after the prom; it wasn't that he was surprised Brian had wanted to help him, but the fact that in order to do so, he had had to openly admit to someone else that he cared enough about him to ask for advice just made him love the man even more, if that was possible.

Emmett thought this would be the day to end all surprises; first, he had learned of the horrible events with Prescott, only to find out that Brian had persuaded Justin to seek professional help for it, and then he had admitted to him that he had sought help previously when Justin had been attacked at his prom? His impression and grudging respect for Brian Kinney rose dramatically at those disclosures. "Wow," he murmured in surprise. "I had no idea he had done that."

"I'm not sure he wanted anyone to know, either, Em, so please don't let on that you do," Justin implored. "Oh, and Emmett – _please_ don't tell anyone else what I've told you today. It's humiliating enough without everyone else knowing about it."

"Justin…..you need to get it straight in your head, Sweetie, that you do not share any blame for what that monster did to you," Emmett told him firmly to immediately correct any inkling that that was how his friend thought he felt. "But I will certainly respect what you told me, you know that; your secret is safe with me." He saw Justin's face relax just a bit in relief before he asked gently, "Just who _does _know, Baby, in addition to Brian?"

His friend's face flushed just a bit – perhaps out of embarrassment – as he admitted, "Well, Carl knows – and Greg – of course. And Debbie and my mother."

"What about Michael or Ted? The girls?"

Justin twisted his hands nervously in his lap. "I…..know Lindsey and Mel don't know; Brian hasn't told them and they would have no other way of knowing about it otherwise. And I don't believe he's told Ted; he normally doesn't tell him personal things like that unless it's on a need-to-know basis. Brian's left Kinnetik in his and Cynthia's hands often enough before that I don't think that would necessarily set off alarm bells."

Justin was thankful that the victims of Prescott and his brother's breakout and murderous rampage had only been partly identified; somehow the news that he and Brian had been kidnapped and he had been raped had managed to stay out of the press, mainly in part due to Greg's influence and power in the local community, as well as the fact that both brothers were now dead and prosecution was a moot point.

Oh, the media knew about the actual assault and had tried their damnedest to learn who the victim had been, but so far they hadn't succeeded. Naturally, they had their suspicions who it was and they had attempted to find out if they were correct, but everyone involved, including, Carl, Greg, and Brian, who had been contacted at Kinnetik to his consternation, had remained tight-lipped. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why Justin didn't want to venture outside their loft – he was too terrified that somehow it would be like the prom fiasco all over again and he would be hounded relentlessly by the media until he blurted out the truth. He just couldn't handle that right now. He supposed it was naïve to expect that the eventual truth wouldn't be revealed, but just the thought of having to deal with that aspect of what had happened filled him with a sense of panic.

"Justin?" he heard Emmett calling him softly as he became aware of his silence. He nodded to reassure his friend he was okay – at least as okay as he could be – before he continued.

"Michael…..I, I don't know about him or Ben," he said quietly. "Since Deb knows, there's a good chance that Michael and Ben do, too. Even if she didn't tell them, I guess whether they know depends upon whether Brian felt he needed someone to talk to – kind of like I'm talking to you," he said softly as he gazed into Emmett's concerned eyes. "I guess I would understand if he did, but every time I saw him or Ben from now on, I would be so embarrassed that they knew."

"Justin…."

"I know, I know, Em….it's not my fault. Maybe if I keep telling myself that about a thousand times more, I'll actually start to believe it."

Emmett shook his head in sorrow for his friend; how could he make Justin realize none of this was his fault? The sad truth was that no matter how much he realized it, and how much he wanted Justin to feel that way, too, it wasn't that easy. That was where the professionals came in, and it pointed out why it was so necessary.

"Sweetie, you said Brian was going to get some names of people."

Justin took a quiet breath before exhaling it and nodding. "Yeah…."

Emmett squeezed Justin's shoulder before finally letting him go. "I think that's a really good idea. You need someone to talk to about this, Justin; both of you do. I'm sure Brian would never agree to do that in a million years, though." He knew how proud his friend's husband was about how he never needed anyone else to take care of him and how independent he was.

"He already did," Justin told him to his great surprise, though. "I asked him if he would agree to joint counseling and he said he would."

Emmett raised his eyebrows in amazement. Just when he thought he couldn't hear another surprise today, Justin came up with the biggest one of all. "He agreed to it? Just like that?"

Justin twisted his face and snorted softly. "Well, it wasn't quite that cut and dried, Em, but the important part is that he _did_ agree to go." He recalled his conversation yesterday with his husband; Brian really wasn't looking forward to it – he knew that – but he also knew that Brian needed to talk about what had happened just as much as he did. He knew his husband was harboring a great deal of guilt over him being kidnapped in the first place, and he needed to have a professional set things straight with him. He could never blame Brian for what had happened; if it hadn't been for Brian these past few years, he would have never made it. Just like Brian had pointed out to him so many times before, they were always so much stronger together and only together would they be able to make it through this horrible time.

"I'm glad, Baby," Emmett told him gently. "For both of you." He shook his head. "That man has changed so much since he met you; you have no idea."

Justin smiled at his friend wistfully as he thought of his proud, handsome husband for a few seconds before his face took on a much more somber expression. "I…..I just want things to return to normal; as least as normal as it can be." He rubbed his hand over his lips restlessly. "I'm not sure that's even possible, Em," he admitted.

"Of course it's possible, Justin! And it begins by you believing that…..okay?"

Justin sighed mournfully. "I'll try, Em….I'll try."

Emmett nodded. "How about some lunch, then? Want to go out to grab a bite to eat?"

Earlier Justin thought he would have jumped at the chance; after all, that was why he had gone outside in the first place. But the moment he had stepped out the door, the old, unwelcome feeling of his heart threatening to burst out of his chest had emerged and he had known – he couldn't do it, not yet; maybe never. He only knew he could do it if Brian were there. "I'm sorry, Em," he said regretfully. "I can't."

Em's heart went out to his friend; he remembered how hard it had been on Justin before and he knew that was exactly what was happening this time, also. "That's okay," he reassured him, trying to smile back at Justin to know it was all right to be afraid. Inside, though, he was worried about him. He was especially concerned that Justin had mentioned he didn't want to paint. That was the biggest red flag of all. He could only hope that the joint counseling with Brian would be enough to heal him. "We can order in, then, okay? What would you like?"

Justin was surprised to realize that he actually was hungry; he was so grateful to Em for listening to him and being his friend. It helped just a little to feel that perhaps things could eventually go back to normal. "Uh….pizza?" he suggested tentatively.

Em's mouth twisted into a grin; at least for one brief moment he was catching a small glimpse of the friend he knew so well. "You got it….one sinfully greasy pizza coming up. Can you recommend a place nearby that delivers?"

Justin nodded. "You really think you have to ask?" he teased his friend. "I have the number memorized; best pizza in town," he told him. As Emmett pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to make the call Justin said somewhat mysteriously, "And I've got just the place where we can eat it, too." His voice softened as he added, "Let me show you Brian's anniversary present."

* * *

_Two Hours Later – 3:00 p.m._

"Justin?" Brian called out as soon as he opened the door. He had rushed out of Kinnetik as soon as his critical meetings were over. He had spoken to Justin around noon just to check on him; his husband had sounded okay enough, but the spark was missing in his voice. Now as he opened the door and walked inside, everything seemed noticeably quiet. "Justin, where are you?" he asked a little more loudly this time, forcing the concern down as he looked around for him.

Not finding him anywhere in the loft, there was only one other logical place where he could be. Turning to walk up the narrow staircase to the roof, he swung the door open and immediately heard some quiet jazz music playing. His heart began to beat a little more regularly in relief as he rounded the corner and found his husband sitting at the small, round, glass-topped table under the gazebo, a drink of some kind in his hand and what appeared to be an open, white pizza box lying in the middle.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached; he had already learned not to sneak up on Justin, even unintentionally, after the last time.

Justin turned his head and smiled at him; it was a soft smile of pleasure at seeing him, Brian knew, but it still wasn't the megawatt smile he was looking for. "Hey," Justin responded as Brian approached.

The brunet noticed he had been correct; it _was_ the remains of a pizza from their favorite neighborhood joint down the street. He was happy that Justin seemed to have regained some of his appetite, but surprised just the same. And it appeared from the size of the box, as well as the extra, empty glass nearby, that Justin had had help eating it. He walked up and placed his hands around Justin's neck to slide them down his chest from behind as he gave him a small kiss on his neck. "Did someone come to see you today?" he asked in his ear as he held him in his embrace for a few moments before releasing him and taking a seat beside him.

Justin nodded. "Emmett," he verified. "We ordered pizza for lunch. He left a little while ago."

Brian was surprised by that information. He knew that Justin and Emmett were good friends; he wasn't particularly pleased that Emmett apparently knew now what was going on, but he still had to give him credit – he had apparently accomplished something that he had been unable to do since he and Justin had returned; he had somehow managed to get Justin to eat something substantial for a change. "I'm glad to see that he got you to eat something more than a piece of toast and egg," he said, peering over at a single, forlorn-looking piece of pizza remaining in the box.

He peered into Justin's eyes intently. "Did you know he was coming over?"

Justin shook his head; Brian noticed him averting his gaze from him as he added softly, "I ran into him outside."

Brian's eyes widened. "Outside? You went outside?" That would be the first time Justin had done that since they had returned; perhaps he was making progress. But something about the way Justin was acting made him think all wasn't quite as it appeared. "Sunshine," he said gently, "What happened?" His heart dropped as he saw the beginning of tears forming in the corner of his husband's eyes as he turned to look back at him.

He took a breath before he said, "I was so fucking tired of being stuck inside the loft, Brian. I wanted so badly to go out – just for a walk. I thought if I just did that – just took a walk around the neighborhood and said hello to some of our friends – that it would be okay. I just wanted to feel normal again."

Brian leaned over to take Justin's hand. "What happened, Justin?" he tenderly prodded him. He felt Justin curl his fingers tightly around his palm as he stared into the anguished blue eyes.

"I barely got outside before I felt that old feeling again," he whispered. "The feeling that someone was watching me, waiting for me. The feeling of being smothered and losing control. The feeling that I was being pushed inside this box and I had no way to get out. I felt like even more of a prisoner out there than I do in here!" he cried. "And when Emmett called my name, I freaked out."

"Justin…."

The blond snatched his hand away and roughly pushed his chair back as he stood up. "I fucking hate this, Brian! I _hate _it! I hate that man for what he's done to me and I hate feeling this way!"

Brian immediately stood up and rushed over to put his arms around his husband and pull him into a firm embrace against his chest. "I know you do, Baby, I know," he murmured as he rocked them back and forth in place.

He could feel Justin's hot tears on his shirt as his husband cried silently. He closed his eyes in heartbreak for what Justin was going through and once more, he hated himself for being at least partly responsible for what had happened. All the _should have's _swirled through his mind as he tightly held the man he loved in his arms: he never should have gone to work today, he should have been more watchful, he should have been more protective, he should have known Prescott wouldn't give up, he should have never let Prescott near his man in the first place. He would never forgive himself for what he had done – and failed to do.

He stood there holding Justin for several minutes until he felt the heart beat slowing down to a more normal rhythm. He nuzzled Justin's cheek as he whispered, "Let's go sit down okay? I have something to tell you."

Justin turned silently in his arms in response as Brian wrapped his arm around his waist and slowly led them over to the couch under the sheltered corner. As they sat down together, Brian twisted his upper body to face Justin and took both of his hands. "I called Alex earlier today," he told him. "He gave me the name of someone to talk to. We have an appointment to see him tomorrow morning."

Justin raised his eyes to peer into Brian's fearfully. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Brian told him softly as he rubbed the soft flesh beneath his fingers. "Nine o'clock."

"Brian, I don't…."

"Justin, we're going – together. We have to do this." He peered into Justin's eyes with determination. This was their only way out – it was time to start getting their lives back, to take that first step.

Justin licked his lips, feeling the fear crawling up his throat just at the thought of being outside again, facing who-knew-what. "Brian, I'm not sure I can do this."

"Yes, you can, Justin," Brian told him adamantly. "We're going to do this together. I know you can – you're a strong person, Sunshine; you've proven that time and time again. We agreed to do this together and that's what we're going to do." He left no room for negotiation as he stared intently into the hesitant eyes. He hated the vulnerable look that he saw there, but it just proved to him how vital it was that they take the first step toward recovering what they had lost at the hands of that madman. "Justin?" he whispered softly.

Justin stared into the eyes he trusted with his life, with his heart. He knew Brian was right; this was the only way. Besides, he didn't want to remain the little scared mouse that he was now. He wanted his resolve and his passion for life and his art back; he wanted to rid himself of the shell of a man he had become. He finally nodded back at Brian. "Okay," he whispered. "I'm ready."

Brian smiled at him in relief. "I'll be with you every step of the way."

"I know you will," Justin told him as Brian pulled him into his arms once more. "I know you will."


	20. The First Counseling Session

Mark Anderson sat behind his imposing, wood and glass-topped desk, intently studying the online records of his newest patient due to arrive tomorrow morning for his first joint counseling appointment with his husband. His friend and colleague, Alex Rivera, had obtained permission from Brian Kinney, the husband, to discuss some of the particulars with him before they arrived. Of course, due to patient confidentiality, about the only information he could obtain from Alex was what was already known from news accounts and a casual, off-site conversation he had had with Brian Kinney several years ago.

His patient's name was Justin Taylor-Kinney; he had been the victim several years ago of a homophobic assault with a baseball bat at the hands of a high school classmate, and had sustained a very serious head injury. His assailant, Chris Hobbs, had astoundingly gotten off with a figurative slap on the wrist and had been sentenced to community service.

He studied the public records history of Hobbs, noting the man had subsequently been arrested for several petty crimes, including driving without a license, vandalism and a couple of OVI's. Apparently, Hobbs' sentence had not managed to have a positive effect on him. He shook his head in disgust, but he couldn't say he was surprised; he had seen incidents such as this treated with the same cavalier attitude before when it came to gay victims.

He then clicked to his actual patient's name – Justin Taylor-Kinney. When the man's husband, Brian Kinney, had called him earlier today to set up his first joint counseling appointment with him, he already was familiar with the name of Justin Taylor, and not just because the artist's name had been featured prominently over the past few years in the various art magazines he had subscribed to; he even had one of the artist's paintings hanging at home over his fireplace mantel.

No, he had first become aware of Justin Taylor's name when he had attended the Gay and Lesbian Alliance's annual charity dinner and silent auction several years ago, and had learned of the astounding bid for one of Mr. Taylor's paintings - $50,000, along with a special condition attached to it: that he agree to have dinner with the winning bidder. Of course, at the time no one had any idea it was Lane Prescott, one of the most influential and richest gay men in the entire Northeastern United States. Everyone had found out eventually, though, when the man had drugged Mr. Taylor and kidnapped him briefly before he was ultimately apprehended, partly due to his new patient's partner and now husband.

Being a psychologist, Anderson had actually taken a couple of weeks off to sit in on the court trial approximately a year ago; when most people went on vacation to get away from the stresses of their job, _his_ idea of a vacation was to quietly take a seat in a courtroom drama and observe the nuances of behavior that occurred between the plaintiff and defendant in civil trials. He recalled this particular one vividly; he had been so absorbed in every bit of it, including all the testimony from his newest client to the defendant himself that he had attended every day of the trial until the guilty verdict had been handed down. A typical person would have no doubt been amazed at how someone with such a promising future as Prescott could throw everything away simply because of his fascination over one man, but in Anderson's line of work it really wasn't that unusual at all; he had seen far too many other cases of how an obsession over something or someone could alter a person's life forever. To people like Prescott, Justin Taylor had been as irresistible as a chemical addiction; it defied explanation but it was true. When it came to the object of someone's obsession, it could be just as hard to pull away from the person as cigarettes, drugs, or alcohol. In Prescott's situation, though, his obsession had not only ruined him – it had eventually killed him.

He was familiar with the latest news on Prescott, including the fact that he had broken out of jail and killed two people, including his own twin brother. Unlike most of the public, though, he also knew one additional piece of the sordid puzzle – that the "unidentified" kidnapping and assault victim that Prescott had terrorized for two days had been none other than Justin Taylor-Kinney; his name had miraculously been kept hidden from the press, despite their ongoing pressure on the prosecutor's office and the police department to find out. He figured they suspected who it might be, but everyone involved had been quite tight-lipped about it. Mr. Taylor's husband had volunteered that additional piece of information when he had called to set up the appointment and he had asked him what the counseling was needed for. Well, after reviewing everything that had happened to this successful, creative, but still relatively young man, he could certainly understand why they both needed counseling.

He let out a breath and shook his head; sometimes he actually wished his job wasn't needed after reading some of the horrific details he always seemed to be presented with when it came to his new clients; but sadly, he knew that was never going to happen. As long as he wished to continue being a psychotherapist, there would always be a need for his skills. Taking one last, thoughtful look at the information in front of him, he slowly closed his laptop and leaned back in his leather office chair, crossing his long legs and placing them on top of the desk as he mentally analyzed the best way to help these two men.

* * *

_Next Morning – 7:00 a.m. – Lawrenceville loft_

As he opened his eyes in bed, Brian reached over to turn the alarm off; he needn't have worried about oversleeping this morning, because his mind had been churning all night with thoughts about their first counseling session later today. He was trying hard not to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help thinking that this visit might very well be the start of the greatest advertising campaign he had ever undertaken – selling Justin on baring his heart to a stranger over what had happened to him in the past several years and especially recently. He would always love his husband unequivocally, no matter what happened; but he would be lying if he said he didn't want his old Justin back so badly; he knew it might never happen, but he knew Justin wanted that, too.

As he lay back in bed, he turned his head to stare into his husband's eyes. Justin was lying on his side facing him, almost curled up in a fetal position; his legs were bent toward his chest and his hands were clasped together in front of him. He looked so small and vulnerable lying there; it almost broke Brian's heart as he gazed into the beautiful face. At least in sleep, when he wasn't thrashing around in one of his nightmares, he looked almost angelic, almost at peace. If only that were actually true; at least somehow Justin had managed to sleep all night, which was a miracle in itself. He truly hated to have to wake him while he was sleeping relatively soundly, but he wasn't about to miss their appointment; at this point he honestly felt this was their last chance to help get their intimate relationship back on track. Justin hadn't shrunk from his touch altogether, thankfully, but he was still skittish and unsure of himself, reminding him of another unfortunate time several years ago when Justin wanted so badly to make love with him but couldn't. He was determined not to let that happen again.

He sighed softly before whispering, "Justin? Wake up, Sunshine." When Justin didn't respond, he began to reach out his hand to touch the creamy-colored, bare shoulder but then stopped for fear he would startle him. He clenched his hand helplessly into a fist of frustration, cursing the circumstances that had made him afraid to touch his own husband. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly in pain; realizing that Justin wasn't the only one that had been hurt by the monster that had been known as Lane Prescott.

He bit his lip to compose himself for a second before trying a little more strongly this time. "Justin! You've got to wake up!"

At last his husband's eyes fluttered open; Justin looked momentarily disoriented before his eyes focused on Brian and his face relaxed a little. "Wh…..what is it?" he said hesitantly, blinking a couple of times. "What's wrong?"

Brian pasted a reassuring expression on his face before saying, "We have to get up, Sunshine. Our appointment's at 9:00," he reminded him. He didn't have to tell Justin _which_ appointment; it had been uppermost on both of their minds since he had been able to persuade his husband to go for counseling. He knew they probably didn't need that long to get ready, but he wasn't taking any chances; Dr. Anderson's office had instructed him they needed to arrive at least 30 minutes early in order to fill out some paperwork. "Come on, Justin," he implored softly. "Time to get up and get going." He twisted in the bed to sit up, placing his feet on the cold, wooden floor. Rising to his feet, he turned to see if Justin was following suit, but the blond merely continued to stare at him intensely from his curled position on the bed. He knew that look – it was a look of hesitation, of uncertainty…..of vacillation.

Brian sighed; he was not going to back down from this. "Justin, get up," he said a little more sternly this time, feeling somewhat guilty over having to resort to being so brusque, but this was the most important appointment they would ever keep – well, except perhaps for their wedding ceremony. He stood there with one hand on his hip expectantly, his eyes burning into the blue ones with resolve as he left no question as to whether there would be any room for negotiation. No amount of Taylor-Kinney charm was going to get his husband out of this critical appointment.

"Justin, you promised. Not get out of that bed!" he commanded. Any other time that statement would have been comical; normally that would have been the last thing he would have said to his beautiful, feisty husband, but that what was made this whole situation so upsetting, also.

Justin closed his eyes for a second, making Brian concerned that he would refuse his command, but after a brief moment, he noticed the blond nod slightly and slowly turn his back from him to sit up in the bed and swing his legs around to other side of the floor. Brian sighed in relief as he watched Justin, clad in only his briefs, pad over to the dresser to grab a fresh pair from one of the drawers before turning silently toward the shower.

Brian gazed at him longingly, wishing that he had the courage to follow him into the shower so they could engage in one of their favorite morning activities; well, actually, it could be morning, noon, or night – or all three. Before now, he and Justin would normally still be going at it like two rabbits in heat after a night of passion in their bed; but that was before a cruel, inhuman beast had inhabited their lives and stolen that away from them.

He rubbed his hand over his face as he watched Justin disappear into the bathroom; he stood there for a few seconds, uncertain what to do, before he finally plodded down the hall and over to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. Holding a steaming cup of black coffee a few minutes at the bar counter, he took a deep breath; for some reason he felt more nervous about this appointment than he had ever felt before with any multi-million dollar client he might be seeing. Perhaps it was because this was more important than any business client – this was _Justin. _

He raised his head a few minutes later as he heard his husband coming out of the master bathroom; he was thankful to see him dressed now in a casual, long-sleeved linen shirt and a pair of chinos along with a pair of dark brown shoes. His eyes instinctively softened as the blond approached him, his own blue eyes intently staring back at him.

He stood up as Justin came closer, noticing it was now 7:30; they would have to leave no later than 8:00 to get there on time. "I'll…go take my shower now," he whispered as he slid off the wooden, high-backed stool and placed his mug down on the counter. "There's more coffee left if you want some."

Justin, however, reached out his hand to grab Brian's forearm before the brunet had a chance to leave; Brian looked at him questioningly. "Brian….I really do want to go," he assured him. "I want to get better. It's just that…..I'm nervous; fuck, I'm nervous about even going outside. I mean, I want to leave here – I feel like I'm _still _a prisoner because of him! But it's so hard…..so fucking hard." He struggled to get the right words out as his grip on Brian tightened in frustration, but it was difficult to convey how Prescott had changed his perspective on so many things.

Brian's heart broke a little as he opened his arms and Justin practically melted into them. "I know it is," he murmured softly as he wrapped his arms around the slim waist. He heard Justin take a hitched breath before he placed his long-fingered, slender hands on Brian's chest and snuggled his head under the brunet's chin for comfort.

"You're going to get better, Justin," he softly assured him. "And today we're taking the first step – together." He felt the blond head nod in acknowledgement before he reluctantly let go of him. "Go get some coffee and sit down for a few minutes – I'll be right out." He paused to stare into his husband's eyes a moment longer before nodding slightly and releasing him to turn toward the hallway and enter the master bedroom for his shower.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later the two of them were finally on their way to their appointment; to Justin's credit, and with Brian's comforting presence, he had managed to emerge from their loft and walk to the car without his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He knew it was mainly due to Brian, though; when he was with him he always felt so much stronger than without him. He also knew it was unrealistic to expect his husband to be chained to his side all the time; he wouldn't want that and neither would Brian, although he knew he would do anything Justin asked of him.

As Brian started up the car and they slowly turned onto the main road, something that had been swirling around in his mind was brought to the forefront as he asked, "Brian?"

His husband glanced over at him for a few seconds and raised one eyebrow in silent question.

"Who knows?"

Brian frowned slightly. "Knows? Knows about what?"

Justin sighed; they both knew full well what he was talking about. "Who else knows what happened besides Carl, Debbie, Greg, and my mom?"

Brian shook his head. "Why would anyone else know, Justin? The identity of rape victims is protected from the press, unless they want it to be revealed, which I'm sure you don't." Justin had hated the media circus that had surrounded Prescott's trial; they had fortunately been allowed to access the courtroom through a private backdoor which had eliminated the media's exposure to them. But between all the publicity that had surrounded the trial, as well as Hobbs' assault of him earlier, the last thing he figured his husband wanted was to have his name once more bandied about in the press. They would have a fucking field day with that tidbit of information, and Brian was going to do whatever he could to make sure that didn't happen. The last thing his husband needed after going to counseling to try and ease his fears was to have his name revealed as Prescott's kidnapping and rape victim.

"I'm not talking about the press, Brian. What about Michael?"

Brian looked over at his partner. "What about him? You think I told him?"

"Did you?" Justin asked him quietly. "I know how close you are to each other. And I guess I would understand why you would tell him. You need someone to talk to, too."

"Is that why you told Emmett?" Brian countered. "Because you know with the gossip queen of gay Pittsburgh, you're taking a big risk that it will be all over Liberty Street faster than the newest fashion where Honeycutt's concerned." Brian knew how much Justin and Emmett had bonded over the years; Emmett always _had_ been the sympathetic one when it came to what he felt were the numerous injustices that had been rained on his husband before he "saw the light" as the other man put it (thanks, in no part, to Emmett's short drabble with going straight and his trip to Fairyland as Clear Day). He could still remember the smug look on Emmett's face the day he found out they had gotten married in Vermont; it was a cross between a _Gotcha_ look and an _I knew I was right_ look.

Justin shook his head firmly. "No, it won't, Brian. I asked him not to tell anyone else and he promised. I trust Emmett will keep my secret unless I tell him otherwise." He looked over at Brian to say quietly, "I don't think you give him enough credit sometimes. He's been a good friend to me, especially since Daphne has been so busy with school. And I think deep down you know that." He could still remember Emmett's help in tracking down where Prescott had arranged to meet him in Lancaster for what he had thought was an art assignment; his commission for what he thought was a restaurant chain had, instead, turned out to be a ruse on Prescott's part to reunite with him. If Emmett hadn't told Brian where he had gone, there was a chance something even worse would have happened.

Brian sighed; in a way Justin was right. He still wasn't convinced that he hadn't taken a risk in telling Emmett, but in the end it was his decision. "I guess he's been okay," Brian grudgingly admitted. "I just hope he doesn't slip up and tell Ted or someone else, that's all. I'm just trying to watch out for you, Sunshine."

"I know." Justin gazed over at him thoughtfully, his hands clasped in his lap. "You still didn't answer my question, though. Does Michael know? I mean, it's okay if you felt like you had to tell him. Debbie had probably already told him, anyway." His "second mother" wasn't exactly the model of restraint when it came to withholding information.

But to his surprise, Brian shook his head. "I didn't tell him, and as far as I know, neither did Debbie. Carl had been firm with her that no one, even Michael, was to know about your business, and she promised to keep it quiet. I really think she honored his request this time. This is different from anything else we've dealt with before." He looked over at the surprised eyes of his husband to add, "I felt it wasn't my place to tell Michael what had happened. I figured if you wanted him to know, you would tell him. It's your decision, Justin."

The blond digested that piece of information for a few seconds; he knew Brian needed to talk to someone as badly as he had needed to talk to Emmett, and yet he apparently hadn't disclosed it to anyone else who didn't already know. "But what if _you_ need to talk to someone about what happened, just like I needed to confide in Emmett?"

Brian lifted one side of his mouth and looked over at Justin tenderly. "Don't you see, Justin? You're the only one I need to talk to about this; well, except for the counselor, and that's only because I want you healed completely. I want to see you paint again and not be afraid to be alone. I want you to be able to walk down the street and not feel like someone's stalking you. I want you to stop having nightmares about what happened." His voice softened as he added, "And I want us to be together again – the way we both want to be." There was no question what Brian was referring to – it was the same wish that Justin so desperately wanted, too. He wanted to be able to make love with his husband without seeing that monster's face looming over him instead.

He was touched beyond words by Brian's decision to keep what had happened to him from his dearest and oldest friend, the man he would normally have told everything to before. But that had changed – he and Brian were married, soul mates; _he _was his greatest confidante now. It filled him with hope that no matter what happened, Brian really did mean it – he would stay with him no matter what. He could think of nothing else that demonstrated to him just how much Brian loved him. As his eyes teared up at the thought, he found he couldn't speak temporarily but he didn't need to. As he reached to link his hand with Brian, he knew Brian realized what he was thinking when the brunet looked over at him lovingly with a soft smile.

* * *

_8:25 a.m. – East side of Pittsburgh _

Despite his uneasiness over being in an unfamiliar part of town, Justin couldn't help sweeping his gaze briefly over the looming, Victorian, three-story houses dotting the neighborhood. The former residential area had been converted into numerous legal and medical offices indicated by the signs he could read. Brian pulled up to the curb in front of the one housing Dr. Mark Anderson's office; it was a dark-red brick building with a wide front porch, tall, narrow windows and a round turret on the left side. Two Boston ferns hung from either side of the porch fronted by two, squat, curved banisters and a double-leaded, glass entrance door leading to the inside.

As he turned the engine off, Brian stole a gaze over at his husband, hoping to see a spark of excitement in Justin's eyes over the interesting architectural details; normally any other time Justin would have asked Brian to wait as he whipped out an ever-present sketch pad and hastily drew some pictures of it for use in a later painting before they could even enter a building like this. His heart sank, however, as the blond merely sat in his seat, his hands in his lap as he studied the former residence-turned-business. He held back a sigh of disappointment as he asked softly, "Ready?"

Justin let out a nervous breath; he could feel his heart pounding over the thought of discussing the almost unspeakable experiences he had incurred at the hands of Lane Prescott with a stranger. But he also realized by now that this was the only possible way he could ever get back to normal, and he missed his intimacy with Brian. Having Brian hold him, kiss him, and comfort him was wonderful and had helped get him this far, but without the sex they had always shared, without the deep physical bond that they could only have when they made love, it was merely a shell of what they used to be, and he craved that terribly.

He nodded as he turned to look over at Brian. "Yes," he simply said, as he reached to unhook his seatbelt. Brian nodded in turn as he did the same, reaching to open the door. A few seconds later, hand in hand, they walked up the short concrete walkway and ascended the wide porch steps. He could hear Justin take a calming breath before he turned the glass doorknob and entered the main lobby. The home housing Dr. Anderson's office had retained much of its initial charm, complete with glass-paned, double French office doors leading into a nearby conference room and numerous bookshelves lining the reception area around the office cubicle where a middle-aged, salt-and-pepper haired woman sat. She glanced up and smiled reassuringly at the two men as the door opened and they walked up to the counter.

"May I help you?" the doctor's assistant, Lisa Stanhope, asked them.

Brian nodded, still holding onto Justin's hand as he said, "Brian Kinney. My husband and I have a meeting with Dr. Anderson at 9:00."

To the woman's credit, she didn't seem nonplussed at all over his pronouncement that he was here with his husband; of course, being on the outer fringes of a mainly gay-populated area probably had something to do with that. Alex had already advised him that Dr. Anderson himself was gay; Brian had thought that would be important with Justin's treatment in light of what had happened to him. He felt that only another gay male would truly understand what his husband had endured, whether that was fair or not. He simply thought Justin would be more apt to open up to someone with a similar outlook and lifestyle.

The woman reached over next to her desk and handed Brian a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached to it. "I'll need for you to fill out this paperwork as completely as possible," she requested. "On the last few pages, just do the best you can. The doctor will go over that part with you during your first visit today. I'll also need to borrow your insurance card."

Brian nodded as he finally let go of Justin's hand; he felt his husband slide his arm around his waist as he dug in his pants pocket for his wallet and plucked the insurance card from it long enough for the receptionist to twist around and make a copy of it before handing it back to him. He nodded silently at her before he turned with Justin and they walked over to a Victorian-style, dark blue sofa to take a seat. He was relieved that there were no other patients in the room; despite the offices being furnished as comfortably and casually as possible, it was still a doctor's office and made him nervous. As he glanced over at Justin, who had taken hold of his arm now, he knew he had to feel even more anxious than he did. Not only was this the first time they had been out in public since his ordeal, they were in totally unfamiliar surroundings. He reached over for just a second to squeeze Justin's hand before he picked up the pen attached to the clipboard with a piece of string and began to fill out the demographic information on the top, double-sided sheet.

The second and third sheets were much more detailed. They asked numerous "touchy-feely" questions regarding each partner's emotions, in addition to actual details regarding the reason why they needed to seek counseling in the first place. He completed his page of questions and then stopped when it got to Justin's part. Extremely curious to see what Justin would write down for his responses, but also feeling it would be intrusive, he turned to gaze into his husband's blue eyes to advise him, "I think this other part is for you to fill out, Justin." He held the clipboard toward him and watched as Justin took it out of his hands to begin studying what was written on the form:

_What do you hope to get out of today's session? Why do you feel you would benefit from counseling? How would you describe your feelings today? Do you wish to have spiritual counseling provided? Are you sexually active with your partner? If so, how many times per week do you participate in intimate relations with him or her? What sort of areas do you wish to focus on during your counseling? _

Justin's scowled as he shook his head in disgust. "How does he expect me to answer some of these questions? I thought that was why we were here."

"Come on, Sunshine," Brian murmured just loud enough for Justin to hear as he leaned over to nudge his forehead against his. "Just answer them the best you can."

Justin sighed but did as Brian requested, completing the questions as fully as he could. Brian watched as he answered the multiple choice questions, then proceeded on to the essay section where he had to answer the questions in more detail. He was extremely curious to see what Justin would write, but refrained from peeking over to look. He knew the doctor would no doubt use Justin's answers as his focus for their sessions anyway; after all, Prescott's obsession with his husband was the main focus of why they were here in the first place.

Justin scrutinized the page of open-ended questions and fidgeted uncomfortably. The last question made his heart race – _Have you ever been the victim of a sexual assault? If so, describe the circumstances_. Visions of Prescott forcing himself on him rose to his mind and he felt the sour taste of bile rise in his throat. His hand began to shake slightly; there was no way he could put those thoughts on paper in answer to that question; it was difficult enough merely thinking about it. How, then, was he going to find the strength to talk about it out loud, especially in front of Brian, who still held misplaced guilt over what had happened?

"That's all I want to fill out," Justin quietly told him as he handed the clipboard back to him, the last question incomplete. He couldn't even bear to write it down; it was almost as if by writing the details down, it made it all too real and brought everything up to the surface and under the glare of the spotlight again. He knew that particular part of his ordeal with Prescott would have to be explored during their counseling, but for now he just couldn't face even thinking about it.

Brian looked into his husband's beautiful face; he recognized the haunted look in his eyes – it was the same look Justin had had after he had told him he had been just a fuck; it was the same look that had flashed across his face at Gus' birthday party when he had remembered being hit with the baseball bat. It was the same look Justin had had after he had walked in on Brian fucking yet another nameless trick in the loft. It was the same look when he had caught him fucking his alter ego in the backroom at the Rage party. It was his husband's universal look of pain and sadness, and it filled him with sorrow as well as guilt for all the times he had been the cause of it. He peered into the soft blue eyes and nodded slightly before reaching over to take his hand, not sure if he was seeking support or providing it; perhaps it was a little bit of both, because he needed his husband's familiar touch, also.

"Gentlemen?" The receptionist, noticing they had apparently finished with their paperwork, walked over to them. "I'll go ahead and take that so the doctor can review it before your appointment," she explained as she took the clipboard away from Brian. She turned to walk down the fairly short hallway that led toward the doctor's rear office, leaving the two men alone for the time being.

Justin jiggled his legs slightly in restless nervousness. He hated having to go through this, but he knew if it helped him and Brian get back on track, it would be worth it. He knew he couldn't stay the way he was. He hated airing all the horrible details of what Prescott had done to him in front of Brian as well as a complete stranger, but he _did_ know that both he and Brian needed help sorting through their feelings.

"Nervous?" he heard Brian ask him softly; they were still holding each other's hands as he gazed over into the worried hazel eyes. He swallowed; there was no point in being evasive or gilding over the truth, especially not here. "Yeah," he admitted. "Just a little."

Brian nodded and told him softly to his surprise, "So am I."

"I just feel weird talking about our lives with someone we don't know; it's all so personal."

"I know," Brian told him. "I'm not exactly relishing that part, either," he admitted with a twist of his lips. His expression sobered, however, as he told him, "If it gets us back where we both want to be, though, it will be worth it."

Justin nodded. "Yeah…..it will." He missed the euphoric sweetness that only he and Brian had when they were making love; since they had gotten back together a few years ago, Brian had gotten a lot better expressing his feelings for him verbally, but it was still in the throes of passion, and especially as they lay in bed afterward, their bodies spooned against each other, where Brian's love for him was so obvious. It was in the way he said his name, in the way he held him so reverently, in his touch and in the way their bodies melded together in ecstasy. God, he missed that so much. He was quiet for a couple of seconds before asking painfully, "What if it doesn't, Brian? What if it's like after the prom all over again?"

Brian took his free hand and lightly stroked it against the blond's cheek as he whispered, "It would never be like that, Justin. Number one – it took us a while, but we _did_ get back to the way we were after that happened, and more importantly, Number two – we're _married_. I'm not just going to up and run off to go find someone else to fuck if we don't go back to the way things were." He stared into the sapphire-blue eyes that seemed to dissolve into doubt. "God, Justin – do you really think I would _do_ that? After everything we've been through?" Not to mention, a lot of what Justin had endured was because of what he _had or hadn't_ done himself…..

Justin eyes teared up slightly at Brian's tender tone. He saw love and concern gazing back at him, of that he had no doubt. But the physical part of their relationship was so important to Brian – to _both_ of them. Would they be able to go back to the way they were? And if they couldn't, could Brian live without that vital expression of their love for each other? He and Brian weren't the same couple they had been so many years ago – they were no longer unsure of their future together, or scared to commit to each other; not that Justin had ever felt that way. He knew he loved Brian almost from the second he had first met him. But Brian – it had taken him much longer to realize how deep his feelings ran for him, but it had ultimately culminated in the two of them being married.

And they had been happy – so happy once they had moved into their loft together. He would even say blissfully happy. Until _he_ had shown up again, never to really go away, at least not until he had finally been taken care of permanently. But even now – even after the man was dead – his horrible, evil malevolence still permeated their actions and thoughts. As Justin gazed into his husband's worried eyes, though, he knew the answer to his question. Yes, they could persevere through this – they had no choice. Because without each other, they weren't complete. "No, Brian," he responded softly, leaning his cheek into the warm hand. "I know you're not going anywhere." He added, tongue in cheek, "I wouldn't let you anyway, you know. You're all mine until even _I'm_ old and gray."

Brian took a gentle breath and curled his lips under to say simply, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Their tender interaction did not go unnoticed by Mark Anderson, who had spent a few minutes studying the paperwork that his newest clients had completed before following his receptionist back down the hallway to personally greet the two men. His receptionist having taken a short break in the lunchroom, he quietly stood nearby as he observed the couple. He found that often he could discover a great deal about the dynamics of a client's relationship simply by watching them interact together in secret. He knew that could provide him with an untainted view of how they really felt toward each other.

He had seen enough photos of Justin Taylor-Kinney, the artist, to know he was the blond staring back into the eyes of a handsome, elegant-looking brunet who must be his husband, Brian Kinney. The dramatic contrast of the beautiful blond, younger male and his dark-haired, older husband was striking. As he observed them unobtrusively, he readily discerned the look of outright tenderness and love shining in both pairs of eyes as they gazed at each other and held hands. Anderson had seen hundreds of clients over the years and knew the various degrees of caring and love exhibited by his patients; there was no doubt in his mind that these two men clearly cared deeply for each other. He nodded, pleased by that fact, because he knew that was a major step in resolving their physical intimacy issues that he had been told was one of the major problems confronting them.

"Justin? Brian?" he called out as he walked over to them. Both men stood up as he approached and held out his hand to shake first Justin's hand and then his husband's. "I'm Dr. Mark Anderson," he told them with a polite smile. "You're Justin?" he asked as the blond nodded. "Do you mind if I call you by your first name?" Justin smiled slightly and shook his head no.

"And you are his husband, Mr. Kinney?" he confirmed, as Brian nodded and shook his hand, also. "Mind if I call you Brian?"

"No, that's fine," Brian assured him.

He nodded. "Well, if you gentlemen will follow me, why don't we get started then?"

Brian felt Justin reach over to grab his hand as he curled his fingers around the slender palm and together they followed the doctor down the short hallway to an open, oak-colored door. "Would you please have a seat, gentlemen?" The doctor suggested as the three entered his office. Justin and Brian chose to sit on a corduroy, beige-colored couch at one end together as Anderson sat at an angle to them in a matching, overstuffed chair after he had paused briefly to retrieve the information Brian and Justin had completed earlier. He always tried to come out from behind his desk when he was conducting his counseling sessions; he always felt the rather imposing piece of furniture that previously belonged to his father was too intimidating for patients when they were expected to bare their souls to him.

He smiled back at them politely as he peered up from his wire-rimmed glasses observing Brian placing his hand comfortingly around Justin's shoulder as they sat with their lower bodies touching each other. "I've reviewed the information you provided to the receptionist, and have also done some preliminary research prior to your first session today," he began.

"Preliminary research?" Justin asked him curiously. From the doctor's clinical tone of voice, he almost made it sound like he was some scientist studying the latest test results. Perhaps that wasn't so farfetched, though; presently Justin felt like some lab rat in a cage anyway.

Mark nodded. "Yes," he confirmed, eyeing Justin studiously. "The previous events surrounding your assailant were prominently addressed in media outlets, as well as the incident you endured on the night of your high school prom. I reviewed all the information I could find prior to your coming in today. But, of course, I want to get the full story and actual facts from both of you directly."

Justin nodded at that disclosure. He knew he shouldn't be surprised that this man already knew a great deal about them; after all, his history with Prescott had been openly publicized all over both print and online media outlets for the past several years, and the trial had even been featured on a nationwide news show, resulting in some overzealous "groupie" of Prescott's even creating a "FreeLane" website, claiming he had been convicted wrongly of his crime. And that didn't even include all the horrendous business involving Hobbs before that.

He sighed; he should have known the man would already have extensive background on his situation. He didn't know whether that was good or bad; he supposed time would tell on that issue. He only hoped he would feel comfortable with this man once his counseling sessions began in earnest.

He wasn't prepared, though, for Anderson's next admission. "I was actually at the auction, by the way," he told him almost matter-of-factly.

The couple looked at each other before Brian asked, "You mean the GALA auction where Justin's painting was auctioned off and that fucker bought it? You were there?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes….small world, isn't it? I remember the painting very well; of course, the unusually high amount of the bid might have helped me remember it, too. That painting brought in a lot of money for their charity."

"I wish I'd never gotten involved with it in the first place," Justin told him suddenly. "If I hadn't, I never would have been in this situation now."

The doctor nodded. "That's certainly understandable. It's human nature to regret some things we might have done in the past; as they say, though, hindsight is 20-20. But I also like to think that we grow from our experiences, good as well as bad." He studied Justin carefully as his patient leaned in nearer to his husband, seeking comfort; Brian's hand instinctively pulled him closer to his side in response. "By the way, I'd like to use a tape recorder to record our sessions. It helps me to transcribe my notes later, but I can assure you, I will keep each of our conversations totally private. I have a laptop that's voice activated that I use for transcription so not even my receptionist is privy to what either of you tell me. Do you have any objections to that?"

Brian looked at Justin, who shook his head. "No…..that's okay," the brunet told him.

"Good," he responded, reaching inside his pocket to press the play button on a small tape recorder. "Now – the first session is mainly preliminary so I know what to focus on for subsequent encounters. Justin, I've looked over your paperwork, but why don't you tell me in your own words – just why do you want to participate in counseling?"

Justin could feel Brian's fingers caressing his shoulder as he took a breath and considered that question. Just what _was_ he hoping they would accomplish here? "I…..just want to feel like myself again," he finally said quietly.

"And what is that like?"

Justin let out a breath and thought about that for a few seconds before stating, "I want my passion back."

"Your passion for what, Justin? What are you passionate _about_?" He crossed his arms and studied his patient's face. The pale, troubled countenance was clouded over with pain, he noted; that much was obvious even to a lay observer.

"My art, for one thing; at least I usually feel that way," Justin responded sorrowfully.

"And you don't feel that way anymore?" the doctor pressed.

Justin swallowed the hard lump in his throat as Brian's grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "No," he whispered, feeling tears springing into his eyes. "I haven't picked up a brush since…since…"

"Since the rape?" Anderson supplied quietly. He watched as Brian's eyes darkened in anger. "I know it's not a pleasant topic to discuss for both of you," he acknowledged as Brian glared at him. "But that's partly why you're both here. It has to be brought out into the light, not swept back into the darkness. It can't be shrouded in some euphemism, either. That's not healthy or beneficial."

"How poetic," Brian told him sarcastically. "Believe me, Doc, we're both well aware of what happened. All too aware." He felt Justin reach over and clasp his hand as he linked their fingers together. Just the thought of what Justin had went through filled him with both fury and guilt; he supposed it always would, no matter what happened here.

"I know you are, Brian," Mark replied simply; there was neither condescension nor irritation in his voice as he added, "But it has to be discussed openly in order to move beyond it."

"It's okay, Brian," Justin assured him softly. "I agree with him." He turned his eyes to peer over at the doctor. "It doesn't make it any easier to discuss, though."

Mark nodded. "I know it doesn't. Nothing that's painful ever is. But let's get back to what you were telling me, Justin. I know you're a artist – and a talented one at that," he added as he noticed just the hint of a smile of gratitude appearing on Justin's face. "So it must be very distressful for you to not feel like you want to resume your painting."

Justin nodded, too upset to reply all of a sudden for fear he would sound like a emotional, blithering idiot.

Noticing his reaction, Mark gave him a few seconds to compose himself as he asked, "What else have you lost your passion for, Justin?"

Justin sniffled a little and let out a breath of nervous anxiety as he managed to say, "I want to be able to go outside our loft on my own without feeling like someone's watching me or following me. I used to like walking around the neighborhood to get ideas for my paintings."

Mark nodded. "Have you been outside since the attack?"

"Once," Justin confirmed. "I tried to go for a walk yesterday by myself after Brian went to work." He turned his head to gaze into the thoughtful, concerned hazel eyes of his husband as Brian pursed his lips in understanding. He had remembered how upset Justin had been after trying to go for a walk around their neighborhood yesterday; to say he had been rattled was an understatement as he recalled how clingy he had been. That was so unlike his normally independent, inquisitive, self-sufficient partner.

"And what happened when you did?"

Justin swallowed hard again as he recalled what had happened. "I….I freaked out. I felt like I was almost being smothered and I kept looking around, feeling like someone's eyes were on me the whole time. What a joke - I was afraid of my own fucking shadow!" he growled in disgust. "I was about to turn around and head back into the loft before I ran into Emmett."

"Emmett?"

Brian nodded. "He's a friend of ours," he explained. "He was coming over to ask Justin out for lunch."

The doctor acknowledged that statement by asking, "And did you go out to lunch with him, Justin?"

Justin's eyes once more glistened with unshed tears as he recalled his reaction. "No," he whispered, now gripping Brian's hand tightly. "I just couldn't do it, even with Emmett. He came in with me and we ordered a delivery instead."

The doctor nodded. "Well, it's not unusual in cases such as yours to feel that way, I can assure you," he verified. "But you didn't feel uncomfortable around your friend, though?"

Justin smiled a little as he thought of his bubbly, happy-go-lucky friend. "No, Emmett's great. He had been out of town for a while and had just gotten back. He didn't know what had happened to me. He's a good listener as well as a great friend."

"Did you tell him what happened to you?" Mark asked curiously. He had heard from Alex that the identity of the rape victim had been kept from the press; if Justin felt comfortable enough telling someone else what had happened to him, it indicated that he wanted to discuss it and heal from it - both good signs.

"Yes," Justin told him softly. "I needed someone to talk to and he promised me he wouldn't tell anyone else. I'm sure that he'll do that unless I tell him otherwise."

Mark nodded. "And exactly who _does_ know what happened to you recently, other than Brian and your friend Emmett?"

Brian spoke up then. "Carl Horvath, a detective with the Pittsburgh Police Department and his girlfriend, Debbie Novotny; they're both good friends of ours and I'm sure they will keep our confidence. Also Greg Matthews, the county prosecutor, Justin's mother and now Emmett. That's all that we're aware of. They've done a good job of not disclosing anything more than what's necessary to anyone else."

Anderson nodded. "And did it help to talk to your friend, Justin?"

Justin looked down at his lap. "A little - maybe - for a while. But then when I'm alone, I start thinking about it and it just comes back to me in a horrible flash. It's normally the worst at night," he whispered, as Brian began to caress his shoulder reassuringly again.

"You have nightmares?"

Justin nodded silently.

"You're not on any type of medication to help you sleep?"

"No," Brian said immediately, knowing it was important this doctor be aware of Justin's circumstances. "Justin's allergic to a lot of medication, both prescription and over-the-counter. We have to be careful what he takes - sometimes the side effects are worse than the condition itself." Of course, in this case Brian thought that nothing could be worse than what Justin was being forced to relive.

"I'm glad you told me that," Mark advised them. "Do you have a list of the medications you have had allergic reactions to?"

Brian reached in his jacket pocket to retrieve his wallet. He pulled out a small, folded white piece of paper. "I have it right here, but I need this back." It was a sad fact that they had had to use the list more times than he would have liked, but without it, Justin's life could have literally been in danger. How he wished his husband had never had a reason to need the list, or any medication. But the sad truth was, he had needed it more times than he would have liked; _one_ time was too many in his opinion. "Here," he said, reaching over to hand the doctor the paper.

"I'll get Lisa to make a copy as soon as our session is done and make sure you get the original back," he assured Brian. "How do you feel about taking some sort of medication to help you sleep at night - for a while at least?"

Justin considered that briefly but then shook his head. "I'd rather not," he told the doctor. There's so many medications I'm allergic to that I'd be afraid of taking something new."

The doctor nodded, quietly studying the interaction between the two men. During their entire session, they had been touching each other automatically, either with their hands clasped together, Brian's hand around his shoulder, or their lower bodies touching. Justin was lucky in one respect, then - unlike a lot of rape victims, he didn't shun his lover's touch. That was encouraging, but it also brought to mind another question. He had an inkling the question wouldn't be a pleasant one to ask, but it was critical to his treatment plan and to his patient's recovery.

"Justin, I see you didn't complete the question regarding your present sexual activity," he pointed out evenly. "Have you and Brian been sexually active since the rape?" He immediately saw his patient's face cloud over in pain, readily indicating he was touching upon something that was quite upsetting. He watched as Brian's face contorted in distress as well. "Justin?" he pressed softly.

Justin took a deep breath as Brian silently squeezed his hand. "The doctor who examined me told me not to have sex with Brian for a few days after the…..the attack due to the physical injuries."

"You saw a doctor right after the incident?"

Justin nodded. "At the emergency room. I was asked to go because of the police investigation."

Mark made a mental note of that. "And there were no lasting physical effects?"

Justin almost laughed at the question; if it _had _only been physical. "No lasting _physical_ effects, no."

"But there have been psychological ones, haven't there?" the doctor pressed. "You and Brian haven't been intimate since the rape, have you?"

"Doc…."

"Brian, please," the doctor stated firmly. "Let Justin answer the question; it's important."

"It's…..it's okay, Brian," Justin whispered in a choked voice as he gazed tearfully at his husband before turning to look at Mark. "No….we haven't," he admitted in a whisper. He inhaled a painful breath and let it out with a sigh.

The doctor nodded, not surprised by that confirmation. It was all too common after a sexual assault. "And before? How sexually active were you before?"

Justin looked over at Brian sheepishly for a few seconds before he turned to admit, "Three or four times."

"Three or four times a week?" he was asked.

"No, Doc….he means three or four times a _day_," Brian clarified. "It normally depended upon how tired I was after coming in from work and whether I could get away at lunchtime."

The doctor's eyebrows rose as he cleared his throat. "I see," he said with just a brief hint of amusement in his voice. "Well.…I don't think compatibility is normally a problem, then," he said with a slight smile before his face sobered. "Have you attempted to have intercourse since the rape?" he asked quietly.

Justin licked his lips nervously. "No," he admitted. He looked over at Brian, whose hazel eyes were staring at him with a mixture of longing and sympathy. "It's not that I don't want to," he assured his husband. "I _love_ Brian," he said softly. "More than ever." He was supposed to be answering the doctor, but it was obvious his response was directed at Brian instead as he added, "I miss that most of all."

Brian's lips twisted up on one side. "So do I," he admitted to Justin as he leaned over to nudge his forehead against his for a couple of seconds as he gave the shoulder a squeeze.

Mark observed the interaction between the two men intently; clearly they were both deeply in love with each other, that much was obvious. It was _also_ obvious, however, that Justin's rape had had a profound impact on their ability to express that love to each other in an intimate way, especially in light of their previous experience. "What do you think is stopping you from initiating intimacy with Brian, Justin?"

Justin gazed into the soft, hazel eyes. "I….I'm not sure," he admitted, struggling to understand. "Maybe because of what happened the first time," he said as Brian nodded in understanding.

"The first time?" Mark asked. "You mean the first time the two of you had sex?"

Justin adamantly shook his head; a slight smile appeared on his voice as he stared at Brian's face and said clearly, "No….that was wonderful." Brian smiled tenderly back at him in return.

Mark eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "Then which first time are you referring to?" He watched as the blond's face once more clouded over in reminiscence of something definitely unpleasant.

"The first time Brian and I tried to make love after the Prom," he supplied softly, pursing his lips together.

Now it made sense to the doctor as he nodded in understanding. "You mean after the assault with the baseball bat."

Justin looked at him in slight surprise, although he probably shouldn't have been. That terrible time had been splashed over the local newspaper and on the television stations prominently after it had happened. "Yes," he said simply.

"What happened then?" Mark asked gently.

Justin let out a shaky breath. "Well, at first I wouldn't let anyone even touch me. I didn't want anyone near me," he said, turning to look at his husband. "No one except Brian, anyway," he said as Brian smiled at him slightly. "Even when we tried to make love at first, though, I couldn't do it."

"Did Hobbs sexually assault you, also?"

For a second Brian's heart dropped; surely not that…He began to breath normally again, though, as Justin shook his head.

"No," he hastened to verify. "Nothing like that. Although he did let me jerk him off in the gym's locker room once before that." His mind searched back to that day - he had been sure Hobbs' so-called homophobia was actually a way of hiding his true orientation and interest in him; but that had been years ago and he had never had any real interest in the asshole, especially once Brian entered the picture.

Mark nodded, again surprised by the revelations coming to light. "So you couldn't be intimate with Brian at first?" he said, trying to focus his patient's attention back to the question.

Justin shook his head. "No, not at first."

"So how did you get past that? Because, obviously from what you've told me, you did."

Justin nodded as he looked at Brian, who told the doctor, "Justin initially couldn't remember any of what had happened that night; but he remembered part of what had happened and somehow it provided him with the breakthrough he needed for us to be together again." He remembered how wonderful that had been even now; how he wished for that same closeness with Justin again.

Mark soaked in that additional piece of information. "But you wrote down in your intake paperwork that you've never had psychological counseling before. What sort of breakthrough was it, then?" From what Mark had seen so far, it was obvious to him that his patient should have had intensive counseling prior to this, but apparently his preferred counselor was the man sitting next to him at the moment.

Justin gazed into his husband's loving eyes. "Brian and I were at a first birthday party for his son, Gus," he explained. "And someone had given him a plastic baseball bat for a present," he recalled, shuddering a little at the recollection. "For just a split second, I suddenly had a flashback of what had happened to me. And I also remembered that Brian had tried to warn me before it happened, but he was too far away to do anything about it. Later, when we got back to the loft and it was time to go to sleep, I just felt this need for Brian…for him to be inside me," he said softly, a little embarrassed to be discussing something so personal with this stranger.

"I can't explain it exactly," Justin continued. "I just know that I was ready for him to make love to me again." He remembered how gentle Brian had been with him that night - much like the first night when he had been an enamored, excited but thoroughly terrified virgin. He struggled to help make the doctor understand. "I…I just feel safe with him," he finally said as Brian caressed his fingers where they were still linked with his. "And I miss him..…so much."

Brian's heart went out to his husband as he assured him, "I'm right here, Sunshine - and I'm not going anywhere no matter what."

_Sunshine_….Mark _was_ surprised to hear such an endearment fall so easily from the lips of the elegantly appointed, confident-looking older man. For just a second, he actually wished for himself that he could find a partner that invoked the same tender feelings that Justin definitely did with this man before he asked, "So what do you think is stopping you this time, Justin?"

Justin shook his head. "I….I don't know exactly," he admitted. "I….I think I'm afraid that if we _do_ try to have sex that I'll see his face again."

"You mean Prescott's." Mark watched as his patient's face contorted in pain in verification.

"Yes," he whispered.

Mark nodded. "That is perfectly understandable, you realize that."

"Of course he does!" Brian growled. "We _both_ do! That's why we're here so you can fix it." _Please…_he silently beseeched, not sure if it was him or Justin who wanted it the most.

Mark pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know you are," he stated in an almost detached way. He personally liked these two men - he admired their deep feelings for each other and their loyalty toward each other - but he didn't want to sugarcoat what was going to be needed, either.

"Justin, Brian…..I won't gloss over your problems here. I'm glad you've decided to seek professional counseling, and I feel I can definitely help you. But it won't be an overnight solution. And your relationship might not ever be exactly the way it used to be. But if you're willing to work with me - and be totally honest and upfront with me regarding your feelings - I feel I can definitely help both of you." He silently stared at both men for a few seconds before reminding them, "You requested to have counseling together. That means you need to be prepared to be totally upfront not only with me but more importantly with each other, even if it's painful to disclose and hear; I can tell you it probably will be uncomfortable at times. Are you both sure you're prepared for that? If not, you can always elect to undergo individual sessions initially and then have joint counseling together afterward."

Brian turned to gaze into Justin's eyes. "It's up to you, Sunshine," he whispered, letting go of Justin's hand to lightly cup his cheek. "I'll abide by whatever you want to do." He was prepared to do whatever it took to help make Justin whole again.

Justin bit his lip in thought but then said to Brian's relief, "No….I want him here with me…as long as that's okay with you."

Brian's lips curled up tenderly as he softly smiled. "That's fine with me. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes."

Mark nodded, satisfied that they knew what was expected of them. Noticing their hour was up, he stood up. "Well, I think that's a good stopping point for today then, gentlemen. I'd like to see you three times a week initially, and then we'll tweak the schedule based on the progress you're making."

Brian and Justin stood up and shook his hand in turn. "Thank you, Doctor," Justin said. "I'm hoping you can help us."

"I'm going to do the best I can, Justin," he told the blond. "You both have a good foundation already," he told them as he looked at both men, so obviously in love. "If anyone can get back to where they were, I think you can," he said encouragingly.

He watched as they nodded and turned to leave, still clasping each other's hands. He tried hard to remain objective about his patients - it was too emotional to become personally involved with them - but in this case he couldn't help thinking that if ever two men deserved success, they did. Turning his tape recorder off, he walked over to his desk and sat down to begin transcribing his thoughts in preparation for their next session.


	21. Fighting His Way Through the Storm

Brian unlocked the door to their loft and held it open for Justin to enter, stealing a quick glance in his husband's direction as he did so. Justin had been noticeably quiet on the drive home, only uttering an occasional one-word sentence in answer to Brian's attempt at conversation. After a couple more tries at getting Justin to talk to him with more than a "yes" or "no" response, he had finally given up and the rest of the ride had been quiet and tension-filled.

Brian knew having to discuss their present difficulties in light of what had happened at Prescott's hands had not been easy today for Justin; it certainly hadn't been easy for _him_, either, and they were just beginning. He knew the worst was yet to come. But he _also_ knew that if they had any chance of returning to the way they were before this had all happened, they had to endure pushing through the unpleasantness and the pain. They had to work through all the horror that had occurred in order to come out on the other side. He wanted so badly to get the old Justin back – and he knew Justin did, too.

He followed his husband up the steps to the main floor of their loft and watched as he walked over to their leather sofa and sat down, placing his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands and looked down at the floor, totally spent.

Brian licked his lips nervously, finding himself suddenly uncertain as to how to handle this ongoing lack of confidence in his previously self-assured husband. As the therapist had said, their journey out of this deep, black morass wasn't going to be a quick and easy one. He hadn't figured it would be. But he couldn't help the stab of pain that ran through him at the broken spirit of his normally ebullient, playful, and full-of-life husband. He had hoped that going to the counseling session today would be the start of an escape from their darkness; no, he couldn't just hope - he _had_ to believe that. Now he had to find a way for Justin to believe that, too.

He walked over to take a quiet seat next to his soulmate. Cursing at the caution he had to take at even reaching his hand out to him, Brian tentatively placed his hand gently on Justin's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. "Justin," he said softly. "Talk to me." He was relieved that his husband didn't flinch under his touch; at least that was something.

Justin took a ragged breath and blew it out before raising his head to peer over at the brunet. "What do you want to know, Brian?" he asked softly, the weariness evident in his eyes.

"Whatever you want to tell me." He peered into the intent blue eyes. "What did you think about the therapist today?" Brian gently rubbed the skin over Justin's collarbone as he waited curiously for his reply.

Justin sighed. "He's seems okay, I guess. I was surprised, though, to find out that he had been at the same auction where…..where this whole fucking nightmare began." His eyes clouded over in pain at the thought that if he hadn't agreed to have dinner with Prescott in the first place, everything that had happened subsequent to that event would have been preventable.

"Stop it," Brian abruptly chided him, causing Justin to emerge from his reverie and peer over at him.

"What?" he whispered.

"Stop blaming yourself for what happened." He gave Justin's shoulder another squeeze as he stared into the troubled blue eyes.

"But…"

"Justin – you couldn't have foreseen what would happen when you agreed to have dinner with him. What could you have done? Just ignored the fact that you would have been throwing away $50,000 by refusing to do it? That fucker knew exactly what he was doing," Brian growled. "He knew you wouldn't be able to refuse if you were a decent person. He was counting on you doing exactly what you did, what _anybody_ would have done."

Justin knew Brian was right – no normal person could have ever imagined that one, seemingly innocent dinner with an admirer would have ever turned into a never-ending saga of relentless torment. He realized logically that Brian was right, so why did he still feel like he had been a fool? "I know that," he told Brian. "I know you're right." He sighed and bit his lip. "But why do I still feel like I should have known better? Why did I have to be so fucking trusting? Why didn't I listen to you, Brian?"

Brian scooted a little closer to his husband and wrapped his arm around the slender shoulders to pull his body against his own. "Because you wouldn't be you if you ignored an opportunity to help someone less fortunate," he declared. "And at the time, if you recall, I may have had some ulterior motive in mind when I told you not to go out with him." Even now, Brian could remember his feelings of burning jealousy as he had realized the winning bidder hadn't been some gray-haired, little old lady who was buying Justin's painting out of some altruistic sense of philanthropy, but rather an elegant, powerful, affluent man who could steal Justin away from him instead. Even now, the thought that he could have lost Justin to someone like Prescott filled him with unreasonable feelings of self-doubt. Justin was still a young man; he was talented, beautiful, intelligent – everything another man would want in a partner. Despite everyone's admiration of him and his own self-assuredness that he was one hell of a catch himself, when it came to Justin he still couldn't help feeling afraid that one day he might lose him.

"That works both ways, you know," he suddenly heard Justin saying; he hadn't even realized he had zoned out temporarily until he re-focused his eyes on the soft blue ones staring back at him and he shook his head, not understanding the meaning behind his husband's words.

"We're not both going to take another detour down the 'what ifs' again, are we?" Justin asked softly, reaching over to link his fingers with Brian's. He sighed. "As much as I'd love to undo everything that's been done since that day – well, not everything," he clarified hastily as he gazed into his husband's eyes – their wedding day had been the happiest day of his life and he would never, ever regret doing that – "As much as I'd like to go back and forget none of this ever happened, we both know we can't. And if I can't blame myself for what happened, well then, neither can you."

Brian's lips turned up into a self-deprecating sort of lopsided grin. "Well, I suppose that's only fair," he whispered in agreement. "Can you stick to that part of the bargain, though, Justin? Can you quit blaming yourself for all that happened with him?" He curled his fingers around Justin's palm as the blond squeezed back in response.

"I'm not sure," Justin answered honestly. "But if it means you'll finally quit blaming yourself, then I'm willing to try. Have we got a deal, Brian?" he asked pointedly.

Brian could feel the warmth of Justin's touch under his fingers; it was moments like these – these brief little glimpses of a time before the attack – that gave him hope that one day they would return to normal again. He nodded as he pressed back against Justin's hand and squeezed. "Deal."

Justin seemed satisfied with his affirmation as he pulled him more tightly against him. Brian glanced over at the clock hanging over the kitchen counter and noted the time: 2:00 p.m. "Hungry?" he whispered in Justin's ear, brushing his cheek against the soft blond hair.

Justin shook his head slightly against Brian's cheek. "Not really," he murmured.

"Justin, you didn't eat anything for breakfast and it's after two. You have to eat something." He couldn't believe he was saying that; normally that would be an absurd comment when it came to his husband. One thing hadn't changed since they had met – Justin's appetite. At least, until recently anyway. He bit his lip to prevent the sigh of melancholy from escaping before stating, "Well_, I'm_ getting hungry. Why don't I order us something from the deli down the street and we can eat it upstairs?" Brian secretly hoped that Justin would yet develop a desire to start a new art piece up on the roof where he had set up an easel and paints for him; as of yet, though, Justin had steadfastly ignored his efforts and it filled him with a profound sense of sadness as well as just a little helplessness that he couldn't do something to return his partner back to normal. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, though.

There was no discernible sound forthcoming from the blond as Brian waited. "Justin?" he finally pressed.

"Whatever you want to do, Brian," was the noncommittal reply at last.

The brunet bit back a retort that threatened to spring from his lips. He would never blame Justin for what had happened – hell, if anyone was to blame it was _him_ – but for just a second he longed to shake Justin by the shoulders and simply growl at him to just fucking snap out it, to fight back, to explode with fury, to let go. Just once he wanted the fiery, passionate, devil-may-care man he had met, fallen in love with, and married to re-emerge. He wanted the confident, outspoken man he knew was still hidden inside there somewhere. He wanted his old Justin back; God, how he wanted that. Almost as much as he wanted to be inside Justin, to move in passionate synchrony with him as only their two bodies could do. He missed that so fucking much. But he also knew that Justin did, too, and that was what stopped him from saying anything other than a simple "okay" as he gently disentangled himself from his place at Justin's side and rose from the couch to hunt for the phone number of the restaurant.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they were seated under the upstairs gazebo, eating a couple of cold sub sandwiches from the neighborhood deli that Justin often loved to haunt when Brian was at work. It would have been absurdly normal if it weren't for the proverbial elephant in the room hanging over them. Justin slowly munched on his pastrami on white while Brian stole surreptitious glances over at him when he wasn't looking, wondering once more how to help his husband regain more of a sense of normalcy.

"What?" he heard the blond say, as he realized he had been caught staring.

Brian shook his head as he chewed on a bite of his food. "Nothing," he mumbled quietly.

"Bullshit," Justin replied. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Brian swallowed the bite and sighed. "I….I just want you to get better, Justin, that's all."

Justin placed the half-eaten sub down on his plate to stare over at the brunet. "Better _how_, Brian? My ass is pretty well healed now, thank you, if that's what you're worried about."

Brian's eyes flashed with irritation. "That's not what I meant and you know it!" he couldn't help retorting.

"That's what you've been waiting for, isn't it? For my ass to get all better so we can fuck?"

Brian shook his head in disbelief as he stared back at his husband. "Justin, where is this coming from? You know that's not what I meant," he repeated, unable to believe the turn this conversation had abruptly taken. He watched as his husband pushed his chair back from the table and stood up suddenly. "Justin…." He rubbed his hand over his face as he, too, stood up and watched Justin walk over to the edge of the rooftop to look out onto the street below.

He licked his lips, hit teeth coming out to nip the lower one contemplatively as he rose to follow and slowly walked up behind his husband, noticing his shoulders shaking in silent pain. "Justin," he whispered softly, reaching out, wanting to place his hand comfortingly on the slender shoulder but inexplicably afraid to. He watched in heart wrenching alarm as the blond head bowed and he cradled his face in his hands.

His need to comfort his husband outweighed his fear of being rejected as he quickly walked up and firmly wrapped his hands around Justin's waist. He heard Justin make a sort of choked, whimpering sound before he turned around in his arms and burrowed his head in his chest, sliding his owns around Brian's waist and latching himself tightly onto his body. "I'm sorry," he heard Justin whisper against his chest. "So fucking sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you just fucking gave up on me."

Brian angrily wiped a tear out of his own eye before wrapping his arm back around Justin's trembling waist; he had lost track of how many times he had cursed Prescott for what he had done and wished he could have been the one to personally send him to hell. But he had more important matters to take care of now. He wasn't going to spend one more second wasting valuable time on a monster that didn't even deserve being the recipient of a shoe smashing him to a pulp like some pesky bug, although the thought momentarily filled him with satisfaction. He pulled Justin even more firmly into his embrace as he murmured, "Now you know I can't do that, Justin; I would never do that."

He rubbed soothing circles all over the lithe back and whispered nonsensical whispers of comfort to him until he felt Justin's trembling diminishing and his silent sobs ebbing. He placed his chin on top of the soft, blond hair for several seconds and just held him as he closed his eyes to breathe in the familiar, sweet scent of his lover. How could Justin ever think he would give this up? Didn't he realize by now that was not an option? Didn't he realize how much he loved him?

He heard Justin emit a mournful sigh as he pulled his hands away from his waist and watched as the glistening blue eyes slowly rose to regretfully and shamefully meet his. He placed his hands on Justin's cheeks to stroke them softly as he whispered, "Justin, I know you don't want to hear this, but we have to give this time. Even the doctor said that. We both know he's right. Just because you may be physically healed doesn't mean everything's going to revert back to how it was." He held the pale face firmly in his hands as he gazed into the soft blue orbs. "We're going to go back to Dr. Anderson, Justin, and we're going to _keep_ going back until you're better. And then I'm going to fuck your brains out afterward." He was greeted with a slightly amused smile as he tenderly smiled back in return before he added in explanation, "We've got a lot of lost fucks to make up for."

"Brian…." Justin opened his mouth, no doubt to emit yet another apology, but he was promptly prevented from doing so when Brian placed one long index finger gently over his mouth and shook his head in warning. Justin pursed his lips together before nodding his understanding.

Brian stared into the beautiful, vulnerable face for a moment before slowly lowering his gaze to stare at the full lips. He couldn't help it as he body leaned in with hopes of getting a taste; it had been too long since he had stolen the last kiss and he was craving another sample. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Justin slowly respond to his unspoken request by meeting his lips halfway.

As their mouths tentatively touched, he couldn't help the small sigh that escaped as he snaked his tongue out to gently wipe across his husband's mouth, asking, wishing fervently for entrance. It wasn't the first time they had kissed since they had been reunited, but it seemed that each one since then had a degree of poignancy to it, almost as if it was the first time all over again – almost as if he had to treat Justin like some fragile, precious jewel. He knew that his husband's psyche was certainly fragile at the moment – his behavior since their counseling session earlier was obvious proof of that.

The kiss was sensual, slow, and gentle; not their normal passionate, greedy, lustful ones. But it was more than enough. It was enough of a reminder of how they used to be, and hopefully what would come to pass. He wound his one hand around Justin's neck to settle at the back, almost subconsciously feathering the soft hair he found there as his other hand remained lightly on Justin's cheek. Justin's hands began to slowly roam over Brian's back as he returned the kiss with the pent-up emotions he was feeling.

He heard Brian moan as their kiss began to deepen; he closed his eyes as he could feel his body beginning to respond until a flash of another man kissing him appeared abruptly in his mind like a maelstrom of dread. He could almost still feel Prescott's lips roaming hungrily over his chest, his nipples, his belly….. "Stop," he said, opening his eyes wide and tearing his lips away from Brian's as he frantically began to push against the hard chest. "Stop!" he cried out a little louder as he began to struggle in Brian's arms.

"Justin…." Brian's eyes widened in alarm. _What the fuck_…..? "What is it?" He held onto the slender body, unsure what to do. "What….?"

"Let me GO!" Justin shouted as he wrenched himself away from his husband, his body shaking as he took deep, gasping breaths. As Brian stared back at him horrified, Justin realized where he was and who he was with and he once more covered his face in his hands in shame. He raised his eyes to take one more look at Brian before abruptly twirling around and rushing over to the door to violently pull it open.

"Justin!" Brian called after him, but his husband was too fast for him. He had opened the door and slammed it shut before he had a chance to follow him. "Fuck!" He stood there in shock for a few seconds before quickly hurrying to the door to open it. "Justin!" he shouted down into the narrow passage, but there was no response. He could hear the echo of footsteps in the loft as he began to run down the steps, not stopping until he had reached the landing. He turned his head to peer into the open living room/kitchen area but there was no sign of his husband. Willing his heart to slow down and forcing himself not to jump to conclusions, he turned the opposite way toward the end of the hallway and stopped at the open doorway to their master bedroom. There, curled up with his back from him in a fetal position, was his husband, lying on top of the mattress.

Brian inhaled a shaky breath before letting it out softly; silently counting to ten as he gave thanks that Justin hadn't rushed out of the loft on his own. He was afraid in his agitated state that if he had, it would have only made matters worse. He slowly walked over to his side of the bed and looked down at him. There could be no way that Justin didn't realize he was there, but he made no movement to turn around and face him.

Brian couldn't believe they had come to this – unable to be together, at least in every, desirable sense of the word, and unable to be apart; they were merely somewhere in between. One emotional step forward and then two tumultuous steps backward. How long would it go on this way? He already knew the answer to that difficult question, though. _As long as it takes…._

He knelt on the bed now, his knees dipping into the mattress as it sank slightly under his weight. "Justin," he whispered softly. "Justin, it's okay." He knew that sounded so fucking trite, so patronizing, but what else could he say? That things were shitty? That they would never get better? No, he would not even entertain that thought.

Justin turned in the bed finally to face him; his face was streaked with tears of sadness and regret over what he had done up on the rooftop. "No, it's _not_ okay, Brian!" he cried out. "When….when you kissed me, I saw him….I felt him…..I was there again. He had me pinned to the bed and….and he was kissing me and he wouldn't stop…."

Brian felt his blood boil at the thought of what that man – no, he refused to call him a man because he wasn't a human – his blood boiled at the idea of that monster kissing and pawing his husband against his will. The idea made his skin crawl with fury, it made him want to tear the fucker's eyes out and stomp on his head until he was a bloody pulp. It made him want to pull out each of his fingernails with pliers, one by one. It made him want to cut the psychopath's dick and balls off with a chainsaw. The worst part of all, though, was that he was helpless to do any of that because the man was dead – unlike Justin, his pain was over, at least in this life. But as he looked down at the anguished face of the man he loved, he could only hope that Prescott's pain was just beginning somewhere in another life. _You're not going to win here, you fucker. I won't let you_.

If he was honest with himself, the last thing he really wanted was to hear Justin describing his ordeal in painful, specific detail again because it just brought to the surface all of his own feelings of helplessness and guilt over what had happened . But he also knew he _had_ to listen – for Justin's sake. Justin needed to talk about it, as abhorrent as it was to both of them.

As he knelt there staring at his husband, Brian admitted, "No, it's not okay – you're right. It's not okay what he did to you, and it's not okay that he isn't being made to suffer for it." He reached out with the intention of touching Justin's shoulder reassuringly but hung back as he fisted his hand into a tight, clenched ball. "And it's not okay that I'm fucking afraid to even _touch_ you!"

Justin stared up into the tormented hazel eyes as he slowly sat up in the bed. "Brian….." He couldn't stand the look on his husband's face. He realized that he wasn't the only one who was in turmoil at the moment. How could he forget that? He reached over to lightly place his hand on Brian's shoulder. "I never want you to feel that way. Fuck!" he whispered, pursing his lips together in sorrow. He gazed at Brian intently for a moment before saying, "Hold me, Brian. Just hold me."

The dam of tension and uncertainty broken for now, Brian sat with his back to the headboard next to Justin and swept him firmly into his arms. He tightly wrapped his arms around Justin's upper body and just clung to him like an emotional buoy. He heard Justin sigh softly as he tilted his head to lean it against the blond mop of hair as they sat there silently, each drawing much-needed comfort from each other. Brian's heart warmed at the sound of Justin whispering, "I love you."

His mouth lifted up in the corner affectionately as his lips fervently uttered the words so easily that once were almost impossible to verbalize. "I love you, too." _More than you'll ever know…so much fucking more…. _

"So that explains why you put up with all my shit," Justin answered soberly.

Brian smiled, even though he wasn't sure if Justin was being facetious or serious. "You bet your ass," he quipped softly. "And quite an ass it is, too," he added with a slight drawl to his voice.

He heard Justin snort quietly as he said, "Well, I just hope you get to revisit it soon."

Brian sighed in longing. "Me, too, Justin," he assured his husband. "And we will – count on it." He shifted their positions to slowly sink fully down onto the mattress, still holding tightly onto Justin as they silently lay embracing for several minutes until he heard the eventual, steady, soft pants of breathing coming from the blond. The latest emotional roller coaster having abated for now, he slowly closed his eyes to join his husband in slumber.

* * *

_The Next Morning Blackbird Loft_

"Are you sure?"

Justin stood next to Brian near their dresser in the master bedroom as the brunet adjusted his tie. He placed his hands on his hips before replying, "Yes, Brian, I'm sure. You can't keep staying home to babysit me. I'll be fine, I promise."

Brian had his doubts, however, especially after yesterday. There had been no more emotional outbursts or episodes of pulling away from his overtures since Justin had pushed away after their kiss, but his husband's moods seemed to swing so violently back and forth lately that he never felt a hundred percent comfortable leaving him alone. The _last_ time he had done that, Justin had ventured outside and promptly freaked out. But he knew if he pressed the issue, it would only make his husband even more resolved to maintain his defiant stance. Either way, he wasn't going to come out ahead.

"Okay," he finally agreed, as he took one more look in the mirror at his suit before he turned around to face the blond. "I'll go ahead and go into work. But you call me if anything comes up, okay? _Anything._" He couldn't help thinking for just a second that it would be nice for something in _particular_ to "come up," but he knew that was both premature and foolish. Even if Justin _did_ feel like having sex, from previous experience after the bashing, he also knew the chances were good that Justin wouldn't be able to go through with it, no matter how much both of them desperately wanted that right now.

"Go," Justin told him firmly. "I'll be okay."

Brian nodded as he walked up to stand next to him. He again found himself hesitating for just a second, still feeling like he was walking on eggshells before he lightly placed his hands on Justin's shoulders and leaned in to give him a soft, brief kiss. As they broke apart a few seconds later, Justin nodded and gave him a slight, reassuring smile.

"Later," Brian said, giving his shoulder a small squeeze before reaching in his pocket for his car keys and walking over to the door to leave.

"Later," Justin called back to him softly as he watched him go. He actually hated the thought of being apart from Brian but he knew it wasn't healthy for either of them to have Brian at his every beck and call. Besides, they had their second counseling session with Dr. Anderson tomorrow, and Brian needed to take care of his own business, which had been sadly neglected over the past few weeks as a result of what had happened.

After his latest trek outside the loft, however, he had no intention of venturing outside again. Sighing, he wondered what he would do today. He walked out of the bedroom and over to the kitchen to pour a still-hot mug of black coffee, pouring a couple teaspoons of sugar into it before taking it and descending downstairs to his already sun-drenched studio. He had loved the tall, wide-open industrial space from the first moment Brian had shown it to him; both of them knew it was the ideal artist's gallery with its tall windows that let in the first morning's light to the built-in corner nooks that were perfect for displaying Justin's completed works. And he had done just that in the year they had lived here; he had been almost like a man possessed with inspiration after they had moved here, painting piece after piece, most of which were quickly gobbled up soon after being hung.

And after he and Brian had gotten married and jetted off to Mykonos for their Aegean honeymoon in a secluded hilltop villa, he had been fired up even more with ideas once they had returned home. For almost a year, he and Brian had been – dare he say it – deliriously happy; both of them. Now, as he looked over at the partially-finished, forlorn looking piece he had started on before he had been kidnapped and assaulted, painting was the last thing he felt inclined to tackle.

He walked slowly over to the unfinished work and stared at it. He had begun the impressionist piece with vibrant, happy shades of royal blue, plum, and silver made with strong, diagonal strokes. He recalled distantly now that at the time he had been thinking about his and Brian's first-year wedding anniversary and had been meaning to give it to Brian as a gift to hang in his office before the day arrived. Brian already had several displayed there, but he had been hinting strongly (and none too subtly) that he would really like to have one to hang in a newly-refurbished part of Kinnetik where he had added on an additional conference room. Now, as he stared at it, the painting only reminded him of what had been and what was gone.

"Damn it!" he shouted as he kicked out with his foot and made contact with the easel; as the painting and wooden structure tumbled to the floor, he picked the painting up and violently threw it across the room. He watched as the canvas struck the corner of the brick fireplace located on the opposite wall and a large rip appeared before it felt flat to the floor with an echoing clap.

He stood there shell-shocked, unable to move. Normally he would have never destroyed any of his work, not after Debbie had talked to him so long ago about his art; it had been after he had tried to throw some of his charcoal sketches out in response to his father ridiculing his idea to go to PIFA. Debbie had made him realize that he was and always would be an artist; that was his true love and his burning passion. It was what made him who he was. It was what he was born to do and what kept him grounded.

At least it _had_ been. Prescott had even succeeded in taking that away from him now, too. His eyes filled with tears at the realization as he slumped to the floor, placing his hands over his face as he sat cross-legged on the hard, wooden surface. His shoulders shook as he cried silent tears of loss and pain.

The harsh, sudden sound of someone firmly knocking on the front door a few minutes later made his heart race immediately with fear; as he raised his eyes away from his face, he desperately hoped that whoever it was would simply leave. But the party refused to obey as they knocked even louder. _Please…..leave me alone, _he silently begged as the person insistently rapped once more.

A flash of someone peering in the windows a few seconds later caused his heart to jump into his throat before he realized he knew the person. Sitting there in clear view, he knew there was no getting around answering the door now; he knew this person wouldn't just go away. Reluctantly, he slowly rose from his position on the floor and shuffled over to the foyer entrance door to flip the deadbolt and turn the knob to open it.

Debbie's smile faded quickly as the door opened and she got a good look at Justin's tear-stained face. "Sunshine," she murmured softly as she stood there hesitantly, holding a thermal casserole tote in one hand. She gently pushed her way inside as the blond closed the door behind her and locked it. As she placed the casserole dish down on top of the narrow foyer table resting against the wall, Justin's face contorted into a mask of pain as he fell into her outstretched arms and began to sob.

Debbie's own eyes filled with tears as she patted Justin's back soothingly and he wrapped his arms around her waist to continue crying into her shoulder. "Shh," she whispered softly. As she rocked Justin in her arms, she silently cursed the maniac that had done this to her normally happy, unflappable friend, the young man she had come to love as another son. _Damn you, Prescott. _

"Let's go sit down, Sunshine, okay?" she suggested as she continued to pat his slender back. After a few seconds, Justin finally raised his head to meet her gaze and nodded; his tears were completely spent now. He turned around mutely to walk down the hallway and up the staircase toward his and Brian's main living area, having no wish to revisit the irreparably damaged work of art he had thrown against the studio floor.

Debbie glanced over at the damaged canvas as she walked by, somehow realizing instantly what Justin had done – and why. She gazed at it sadly before picking up the casserole tote and following Justin up the steps. Walking over to the kitchen to place the tote down on the counter, she turned to look for her friend, noticing he had trod the short distance over to the living area to sit down on a black leather couch. She quietly walked over and sat down next to him, her thoughts filled with sorrow over what this beautiful, normally happy young man was going through. It was all so unfair – so fucking unfair.

"I'm not even going to try spouting some shit at you about how everything's going to be hunky-dory, Justin," she said with unaccustomed seriousness.

"Good," he answered shakily, as he glanced over at her. "Because that's the last thing I want to hear at the moment." He knew that would be so much bullshit as to be laughable; at least Debbie had enough sense to realize that apparently.

She nodded her head. "I'm sure it is," she said, gazing unblinking into his eyes. "But remember what I told you before after the prom when your hand kept giving you fits at the diner?" Justin nodded slightly as she explained, "I told you that sometimes you just have to hang on, Honey, and that's exactly what you have to do right now." She reached over to lightly stroke his cheek with one wrinkled, red-lacquered finger before whispering, "I am so sorry that you have to go through this, Honey. So fucking sorry. But I do know that you have a lot of people that love you and believe in you. And I know how fucking strong you are, Justin, whether you realize that right now or not."

"Deb….."

"Let me finish, Sunshine," she gently chided him as she cradled his cheek in her hand. "There is a man who is hurting every bit as much as you are that loves you with every bone in his stubborn body. So if you ever think about just giving up, you think about him."

Justin let out a breath of frustration. "Deb, you don't know what he's done to me," he whispered in a choked voice. "What he's taken away from me, from _Brian_."

"No, I guess I don't," she admitted quietly, although she certainly knew enough about the atrocities Prescott had committed to know that Justin had been through a horrible ordeal. "Not all of it. But does that really matter? Are you going to just give up and crawl into a hole somewhere so he can win? Is that what you want, Sunshine? Is that what _Brian_ would want?"

Justin pushed away for her touch to snap, "It's not that fucking easy, Debbie! I just can't turn off the nightmares I've been having like some light bulb! I can't even go outside without freaking out!" He turned his back away from her, his voice barely a discernible whisper as he painfully admitted, "Brian and I can't even make love because of me."

Debbie's heart broke over that statement. Her sweet, compassionate young friend not able to express his love to the man he cared so deeply for had to be the ultimate in pain and humiliation for him. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a breath before reaching out to place her hand lightly on Justin's shoulder; she watched as the blond flinched slightly at her touch but didn't pull away. "First of all, Justin, it is NOT because of _you_; NONE of what happened is because of _you_; let's get that straight. You are the innocent party here. That inhuman monster is the one who has done all this. So don't you _dare_ go blaming any of this on yourself, do you hear me?" She could hear Justin sigh plaintively in response but that was all. "Justin? Do you hear me?" she repeated more firmly.

Justin finally turned around to nod slightly. "Yeah, Deb, I hear you. I just wish it was that easy."

"I never said it was going to be easy," she argued. "But surely you realize that neither you nor Brian were the ones to blame for what happened. But you ARE the ones who will have to be strong enough to overcome it, and I know you can." She stared into the red-rimmed blue eyes before quietly suggesting, "Maybe you need to seek some professional help, Justin; someone who's impartial and trained to help with these kinds of things. There's no shame in seeking help if you need it." She silently chided herself over that statement; if it hadn't been for Carl's assistance when Vic had died suddenly, she ventured she would have fallen apart over it. Only his love and support had helped her overcome the terrible remorse and guilt she had felt over that last farewell argument they had had. But that also made her believe that with Brian's love, Justin could do the same. She was surprised, though, with the reply Justin gave her.

"We are," he told her softly. "We went for our first session yesterday; we have another one tomorrow."

Debbie's eyes widened in surprise. "We?"

Justin nodded. "Brian and I are going together."

Debbie gasped softly. "You mean he's going to counseling with you?" Perhaps Justin meant he was merely accompanying him there; that would be more typical of what he would do.

But Justin shook his head. "No, we're seeing a joint counselor," he verified, smiling slightly at Debbie's look of shock.

"How…..How did you ever convince him to do _that_?" Debbie asked in wonder. Of course, Justin would be about the only person who could talk Brian into doing things he normally would never do, but counseling? She was stunned.

Justin shrugged. "I just told him I wouldn't go unless he agreed to counseling with me."

Debbie smiled softly. "That makes a little more sense," she replied. "But I'm still surprised he agreed to do it." She decided, though, that it was just further testimony to just how much Brian had been changed by her young friend sitting next to her. "I'm glad, though, Honey. I know Brian's carrying around a lot of guilt over what happened."

"It's not his fault!" Justin cried out. "He had nothing to do with what happened!" He had heard enough of that from Brian and it rankled him to hear the same statement coming from Debbie.

"No, I don't mean that," she hastily said, squeezing Justin's arm in clarification. "I just meant that he feels that way; I agree with you," she verified firmly. "The only one who's to blame here is that fucker that started it in the first place." She looked over sorrowfully at Justin to add, "If anyone should feel bad about this whole thing, it should be me. If you hadn't wanted to help out with Vic's House you never would have agreed to have dinner with that asshole in the first place."

"Deb…..I don't blame you, for fuck's sake!" Justin growled back at her. He sighed; he'd had enough of the blame game. "You're right – no one's to blame except him. I just have to work through all the other feelings going on inside me – and so does Brian."

She nodded. "Well, you've taken the first step in the right direction, Sunshine. Do you like this therapist?"

Justin considered that question for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Yeah, I guess he's alright so far. We just met him yesterday; it's a little too soon to see what's he going to be like." He snorted. "Do you know he was actually there the night of the auction during the bidding?"

"No," she breathed out in surprise.

Justin nodded. "Yeah….of course he had no idea who had bid on the painting, but he certainly remembered the amount of the bid." Of course, _anybody_ would have remembered such an absurdly-high amount for one painting, especially one painted by an unknown student artist at the time.

"So he's gay, too?" she asked him.

Justin nodded. "Yeah…I think that will help. At least I won't feel quite as awkward talking to him as I would somebody else." He licked his lips subconsciously as he confided, "But it's all so personal, Deb. It's so hard to talk to a stranger about everything." It was particularly uncomfortable talking to a virtual stranger about his and Brian's sex life; even though Brian had never made any secret of his sexual prowess, surprisingly when it came to what they did alone his husband could be quite reclusive and secretive about how they fucked and made love. It was as if once they became monogamous, he had shut out all other details about it; Justin actually had found it oddly endearing. But now it simply made it even harder to discuss it in public with someone they really didn't know.

She nodded understandingly. "You two love each other so fucking much, Sunshine. You can work your way through this, I know you can."

Justin eyed her intently. "I hope so, Deb," he replied in a heartfelt whisper. He had never hoped for anything harder in his life. He couldn't continue to live in fear and sorrow the way he was now.

She smiled sympathetically at her young friend before giving his shoulder one more squeeze and letting go. "About Vic's charity," she said softly as Justin averted his eyes in embarrassment over the attention. "I heard what you did, Honey," She whispered. "I got a call from Vic's House and I about had a fucking heart attack when I heard about the donation."

Justin shook his head in irritation. "No one was supposed to know," he growled out. "It was supposed to be done in secret."

"Well, someone let the cat out of the bag," she told him flatly. "It's kind of hard to hide a two-million dollar donation." She shook her head. "Shit! Even now I can't believe it." She looked over at her friend tenderly. "Honey, what you did…..Do you know what kind of difference that will make to so many people now?"

Justin stood up, suddenly feeling embarrassed over all the attention. He walked over to the loft railing to stare down into his studio, noticing the lonely-looking, damaged painting still lying where he had thrown it earlier. "I…..just wanted some good to come out of all this," he whispered to her.

Debbie stood up and walked slowly over to stand next to Justin. She gently placed her hand over one of his as she whispered, "And it will, Honey. It will help people like Vic and people like Ben – good people. People who might have a fighting chance to live now, thanks to what you've done." She stared into Justin's beautiful but sad face. "So the next time you doubt that you and Brian can work your way through this and come out stronger from it, you think of that, okay?"

Justin felt the lump appear in his throat and found it hard to speak, so he merely nodded in response. Debbie reached up to wipe some stray hair from Justin's eyes. "I brought you and Brian some of my chicken Parmesan," she said. "I'll expect you to bring me the clean dish back to the diner whenever you're ready. And you _will_ be ready one day, Justin. When it's time, you will be ready. And I'll be waiting for you."

He turned to stare at her, the tears brightening his eyes as he nodded once more. Debbie reached over to kiss his cheek. "I'll let myself out, Sunshine," she murmured as she lightly stroked his cheek with her thumb to remove the red-lipstick reside from his face before nodding at him with a slight smile and turning to walk away. He stood there, both hands on the railing, as he heard her footsteps echoing down the steps and the eventual latching of the door behind her. A few minutes later, he slowly turned to retrace her steps as he flipped the deadbolt and turned back into the studio to reach down and pick up the damaged painting. Walking over to the easel, he righted it and placed the canvas back in its original spot.


	22. Love Pains

_Same day – late afternoon_

Brian quietly opened the loft's front door, listening intently for signs his husband was around. Again, the loft was eerily silent. He sighed, thinking how much he missed the typical sounds he would hear when he got home. He would normally hear Justin softly singing along to some music on his MP3 player as he stood back from his latest creation, surveying how he wanted to construct his design. Or he might be banging pots and pans around, hurriedly fixing Brian something for dinner before he got home. He had to smile at that thought; despite his teasing Justin about his cooking, he had actually developed into a pretty decent chef since they had become a couple. Sometimes, also, he might hear Justin on the phone, animatedly talking to either Daphne, Emmett, or his mother about his latest art show. Whatever he would do, it would always be with passion and gusto.

But not anymore. Now everything was in shades of gray, muted, soft. Everything was so un-Justin now. And it was all thanks to one monster who didn't give a damn how much damage he caused, as long as it got him what he wanted. Well, at least that was one consolation – he _didn't_ get it, and now he was no doubt rotting in hell. Only thing was, he wasn't the _only_ one in hell at the moment…..

He pushed that thought aside to concentrate on finding his husband. Walking down the short entrance hallway, he stopped first to look to the left into Justin's studio, where he would normally find the other man at this time of day. In fact, it was their typical routine – he would walk in the door, down the hallway, and immediately over to the studio where Justin would undoubtedly be hard at work on his current masterpiece. The two would share a tender smile, a passionate kiss and some small talk for several seconds before Brian would go upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes and join Justin for a glass of Beam in their living room. No matter what stage his husband's painting was in, he would always stop when Brian got home, for a little while at least, to enjoy some private time with him, to savor their bond together. It gave both of them something to look forward to – their own little oasis from the stresses of life. That was one of the reasons why Brian had decided to renovate the rooftop as his wedding anniversary present to Justin.

But that had all changed now, replaced by a new reality; one that Brian fervently hoped was temporary but he had no way of being sure. It was too soon to determine that, he realized, as he stood there in the studio's doorway and stared thoughtfully at the painting displayed on its easel. He frowned, noticing something odd about this particular creation. Walking into the studio to give it a closer look, his heart dropped as he noticed a distinct rip in the bottom right corner of the painting. He had no idea how it had gotten there, but he _did_ know that Justin treated each painting as if it were a precious jewel; it was almost like his life's blood and he handled each one carefully. How could he, then, have damaged it? Except for the tear in the corner, and the austere, somber tones of the painting itself, it looked normal enough; he could readily recognize Justin's artistic eye in the work. He shook his head sadly as he gently fingered the canvas and came to one conclusion – Justin must have done something to _deliberately_ damage it.

He sighed as he ran a hand restlessly through his hair. He would never admit this to Justin, but he was so _tired_….tired of constantly trying to get their lives back on track, tired of the tension, tired of the drama that had overtaken their lives. He wanted his _old_ Justin back – the one that was full of life, the one that was happy, the one that was so passionate he came close to wearing him out in bed, the one that stood up for himself and was his equal in so many ways…..the one that completed him. Because Justin wasn't the _only_ one that had lost a part of himself when Prescott had tormented him – Brian had lost a part of his own self, too…..a part he desperately wanted to recapture. He wanted the other piece of his heart back that had been broken when Justin was assaulted. Sometimes, in the darkest moments, he felt like giving up and just crawling inside a hole somewhere. But he knew he would never do that, _could_ never do that. Not when the man he loved so deeply was hurting so much. He couldn't imagine his life anymore without Justin in it, but he wanted Justin whole again so they could move forward, not stay in the quagmire they currently found themselves in.

He sighed again in nostalgia as he took one final look at the unfinished work and exited the studio to walk up the steps to the second floor. A quick trip to the bedroom and living room revealed no sign of Justin, so that left only one place where he could be – unless he had decided to leave the confines of their loft once more. Brian hoped he hadn't, after hearing what had happened with Emmett the other day. As much as he knew Justin hated being caged up, which was no doubt how he must feel, he also knew his husband wasn't ready to venture out on his own yet.

Walking over to the access door for the roof, he began to ascend the narrow staircase. Opening the second door to the outside, he swung it open and was greeted with blinding sunshine – only it wasn't the 'blinding sunshine' he was most fervently hoping for. At least, though, his other Sunshine _was_ there; he could see him standing by the railing over by the gazebo, gazing out onto the street below. Briefly he thought about how fortunate it had been that he had had the remodelers add the metal bar to the perimeter of the roof. At the time he had asked that it be done, he thought it was a good idea in case someone got a little too sloshed sometime and teetered precariously near the edge; at least it would prevent someone from accidentally taking a tumble. As he stood there, though, observing Justin standing with his back to him and his arms hugging himself forlornly, he mentally chastised himself for the brief thought that flashed through his mind that he was glad now for a _different_ reason. _Stop it, Kinney…..don't even go there…._

He took a deep breath to calm himself before he slowly walked over to stand near his husband. His approach must have been overheard, because he saw Justin turn his head slightly toward him as he asked, "Did you come up to make sure I wasn't trying to play Superman and take a giant leap?"

Brian winced; it was almost as if his husband had read his mind. Yes, he had to painfully admit to himself; because of how upset Justin had been lately, that was _exactly_ what had filtered through his mind, at least for a couple of seconds.

Despite his vow not to lie to Justin, he didn't think now was a time to be brutally honest. "No, of course not," he insisted instead as he walked up to place his arms around Justin's folded ones and pull him back against his chest. "I was just looking for you and wondering where you were, that's all," he reassured him softly. He closed his eyes in relief, though, as he felt the warmth of Justin's slender body clasped in his and knew he wasn't dreaming that his husband really was in his arms and was safe, at least for the time being.

Justin sighed longingly as he continued to gaze at the activity below them. "It's been a hell of a day, Brian," he whispered painfully. Once Debbie had left, the loft's interior had been almost a tomb; in a way it was; every day he felt trapped inside, unable to venture outside for fear of freaking out, feeling just like he was buried alive. At least up here on the roof he could be unrestrained and feel the warmth of the sun on his face in relative security. "I had a visitor today," he murmured unexpectedly.

Brian's eyes widened at that surprising statement. "You did?" he whispered against Justin's cheek as he leaned his face down to nuzzle the soft skin. "Who was it?" He hoped it wasn't someone who managed to upset Justin even further; his husband's emotions were raw and fragile enough at the moment.

Justin made an attempt to turn around in Brian's arms; the brunet realized his intention and loosened his hold on him enough to allow him to do so. "It was Debbie," the blond told him as he gazed up into Brian's eyes. "Bearing food, of course," he said with just the hint of a smile. "She about scared the shit out of me, though, when she knocked on the door and then peered in through the studio window," he admitted, shuddering slightly at the recollection.

Brian slid his arms around the small of Justin's back. "But she came in?" he inquired.

Justin nodded. "Yeah – she and her chicken Parmesan. It's on the counter downstairs."

Brian absorbed that information; it was almost five now; had Justin even eaten today? "Did you eat any of it?" he asked curiously, trying to keep any hint of accusation or concern out of his voice but knowing he wasn't totally succeeding as he saw a flicker of annoyance flash across the blue eyes.

Justin averted his eyes, giving Brian all the answer he needed. "Justin?" he asked quietly. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Justin huffed out an irritated breath. "I had a little something for lunch earlier," he disclosed vaguely.

"What _sort_ of little something?" Brian pressed. When there was no response forthcoming, he took one of his arms from around his husband's back and placed it gently but firmly under Justin's chin to force his head back around to look at him. "What did you eat for lunch?"

Justin sighed in resignation, knowing when Brian was in this mode he didn't let up until he had an answer – a truthful answer. "I had an orange," he told his husband.

Brian shook his head, knowing the blond hadn't had anything to eat before he left for work. Something told him the orange was _all_ Justin had had to eat until now. Well, he was damn well going to make sure his husband ate dinner – and dessert, even if he had to force feed him. "Justin….you have to eat. An orange is not a meal; it's practically nothing!" he growled softly. "Now we're going downstairs and eat some of Debbie's chicken parmesan and have a little wine together, okay?" He left no doubt what Justin's answer better be as he stared intently into the slightly defiant blue eyes.

The fire of obstinacy slowly ebbed down, though, as Justin sighed. "Okay," he agreed as Brian nodded in relief.

The brunet took Justin's hand in his as he led them over to the still-open door and the blond stepped inside first; Brian quietly closed the door and followed him.

* * *

_Forty-Five Minutes Later_

Brian glanced across the table from over the lip of his wine glass, gratified to see that at least Justin was eating a decent meal for a change tonight; he had heated up Debbie's casserole dish and placed some frozen garlic bread in the oven to bake at the same time. Justin had managed to eat most of his chicken Parmesan and one piece of the bread, washing it down with most of his glass of red wine.

The blond stared over at him. "Happy?" he said a little shortly; he knew how worried Brian was about him, but this mother hen routine by his husband was starting to wear thin. He was an adult, for fuck's sake. "Need me to come over there so you can wipe my mouth with my napkin?"

Brian placed his glass down on the table and sighed. "Justin…..We're on the same side, remember?"

"This isn't a competition, Brian," Justin retorted quietly, placing his napkin down next to his plate and pushing his chair back from the table. Brian watched him warily as the blond stood up, picked up his plate and wine goblet to carry it over and place it by the sink. He continued to follow Justin's movements as the blond walked out into the living area and finally perched on the couch, placing his head in his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. Justin seemed to stare at nothing in particular in front of him as he stood there silently, deep in thought, rocking gently back and forth on the black leather sofa.

Brian sighed; was this going to the norm in their lives forever? He truly hoped not, but he also knew whether it was fated to be or not, he would have to deal with it. He had no choice – he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with this wounded, damaged, but incredible man and he wasn't going anywhere – he _couldn't_ go anywhere, even if he wanted to. He was in it for the long haul. _ Better get used to it, Sunshine. I don't spook that easily…._

He had a suspicion that Justin was still a little perturbed over the fact that his so-called anonymous donation to Vic's House had somehow been publicized; he had informed Brian a little while ago over dinner that Debbie knew and he hadn't been happy about it. It had probably been unrealistic to think something of that magnitude could stay secret anyway, but unfortunately it only added to their complicated lives they had already.

Shaking his head over this latest revelation, he quietly rose from his chair and mimicked Justin's actions by plodding over to the sink to place his own plate on top of his husband's. Swishing the burgundy liquid around gently in his half-filled wine glass, he walked over silently to join Justin on the couch. He placed the glass down in front of him on the coffee table and risked a glance over at his husband, who was continuing to stare straight ahead as if he were in a trance. "What are you thinking?" Brian finally ventured softly, afraid that Justin would resent him asking or even making his presence at his side. But he couldn't help it – he belonged here with the man he loved, the man who needed him, the man whose love _he _needed, too.

He was eventually rewarded for his persistence when Justin softly replied, "I was thinking how fucking sick I am of this whole thing, Brian. How sick I am of being afraid of my own shadow. How much I want my old life back – _our _old lives back," he quickly corrected as he glanced over at Brian, who reached to clasp his hand with his. Justin stared at their fingers intertwined together, his wedding band dancing in the waning sunlight from the overhead skylight and Brian's ever-present _**Loved**_bracelet he had given him, and he felt once more the tears welling up in his eyes over what they had lost. Brian didn't deserve any of this shit he was giving him; what the hell was he _doing_? "Oh, God," he said, covering his face with his free hand as he looked down in shame. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

Brian's heart broke at the plaintive, sorrowful tone of his husband's voice. He placed his other hand on Justin's back and lightly made slow, soothing circles on the smooth fabric as he heard his husband sniffle slightly in response to his tenderness. He leaned his head down to press his cheek against Justin's and whispered firmly, "There's nothing wrong with you, Justin…..nothing that time and Dr. Anderson can't fix. And…and our love," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Justin raised his eyes to peer into Brian's face, his lashes wet with his tears. "Do you really believe that, Brian?" he asked sorrowfully. "Really? Or do you think what he did to us is irreversible? Sometimes I think he's laughing at us from his grave."

Brian snorted. "Believe me, Justin, where that man is, he'll never be laughing again. He's in a perpetual hell – the worst hell imaginable. And maybe he's put us into our own version of hell, too. But you know what the difference is? We're going to work our way out of _our_ hell – his is just beginning." He continued to caress Justin's trembling back as the blond leaned over to place the side of his head against Brian's chest; Brian's hands instantly went around the slender body to cradle him protectively.

The two men sat there silently, drawing support from each other for several minutes, until finally Brian realized darkness was quickly closing in. He reached over to turn the side table lamp on, knowing that Justin took solace in the illumination lately. He heard Justin take a shuddering breath as he laid his head on top of the blond hair and reminded him, "We have to go see Dr. Anderson again tomorrow."

Brian nodded, relieved that at least Justin wasn't suggesting they not go. "Yeah," he said softly. "10:00."

Justin raised his tear-streaked face to peer into the soft hazel eyes full of worry. "You know he's our last hope, don't you?" he asked Brian quietly. "If he doesn't fix what's wrong with us, I don't think we'll ever be right again."

Brian gently brushed some of the damp hair back from his lover's forehead and gazed into the beautiful face – it was a sad face, a vulnerable face, but it was still as beautiful as ever. "Justin….." he began. "We're not a set of fine china," he gently chided him. "Whether he's able to get us back to where we were before this all happened is irrelevant, because I'm in this for the long haul, no matter whether we go back to the way we were or not. We're not a vase that's splintered into a million pieces that can just be glued back together. We're not a model airplane that can be assembled to form a whole. We're two men; two queers who got married and promised to support each other no matter what, and that's what I intend to do. And I know you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed, in fact, you _have_ done the same for me when I needed some extra support." He wrapped a strand of the soft blond hair around his index finger and twirled it idly as he murmured, "I'm not going to run out on you – _ever_. You hear me?"

Justin nodded, trying to swallow the emotional lump in his throat. "But, Brian," he countered with a choked whisper. "If we can't fuck anymore…..if we can't make love…a large part of who we are will be gone. How can you live with that?" From the first night they had met, Brian had been larger than life; passionate, sensual, predatory. Eventually, he had evolved into a tender, loving, committed and devoted partner to him and _only_ him. But through it all, through their evolving relationship over the years, the best way Brian had to show Justin how deeply he loved him was through his touch, through his kiss, through his body joined with him in explosive, raw, tactile pleasure. How could a man that was so passionate and constantly craved the need to touch and be touched feel content living without the hope of ever making love with him again? Was that fair to even ask Brian to live that way?

As Brian held Justin in his arms, he vowed to not lie to him. It would hurt like crazy, never being able to make love to Justin ever again. It would fucking kill him. But he refused to believe that was going to happen, though.

He placed both hands on either side of Justin's face and peered into his eyes. "Justin, I know it seems like a lifetime ago, but what happened to you occurred just a couple of weeks ago. You remember how long it took for you to feel like yourself again after the prom? It wasn't an overnight thing, and it won't be now. But it _will _happen….I truly believe that. You just have to believe it will, too." That wasn't to say that at times he doubted things would ever revert back to normal, but for Justin's sake, he would never voice those fears aloud. And despite what ultimately happened, he had meant what he said – he would no more leave this man than cut off one of his own arms.

Justin nodded, swallowing hard before whispering, "I want to, Brian. I'm really trying to." He gazed into the handsome face of his husband for a few seconds before a small bit of a tender, grateful smile appeared on his lips. "I _am_ sure of one thing no matter what happens, Brian Kinney. I love you so much…..so fucking much. More than you'll probably ever realize."

Brian curled his lips under. "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Taylor-Kinney," he said softly. "I can be _extremely _lovable," he told his husband solemnly. "Even downright irresistible."

It was meant to be a light-hearted quip to ease the tension, but Justin's face softened as he said seriously instead, "Yes, you are." He reached up with his fingers to gently sweep them across Brian's mouth; he watched in fascination as Brian's eyes closed in response before he leaned over to gently replace his fingers with his lips. Even now, the power he had over this incredible man enthralled him as he heard his husband's soft intake of breath at the contact.

He could feel Brian holding back somewhat, trying to respond in kind as his lips lightly pressed against his almost shyly, fearfully. He pulled back slightly to stare into the hazel eyes that captivated him so, noticing a silent acknowledgment there that Brian would follow his lead in whatever he wanted, before his eyes lowered to hone in on the dusky-pink lips and he leaned in to kiss them again, this time more urgently.

Brian's pulse sped up as Justin pressed his lips firmly against his; after what had happened, each kiss, especially one that Justin initiated, was like a special gift to him, a nonverbal declaration by his husband that he wasn't giving up, and it helped to keep his own hope alive. He couldn't help his body's response to the action, however, as he wrapped one hand around Justin's neck and pressed his lips more firmly against his mouth to try and deepen the kiss. He slowly stroked his lips across his husband's and then tentatively poked just the tip of his tongue out to gently request permission to enter.

He waited for an anxious heartbeat to see what Justin's response would be; his heart sang in triumph as Justin parted his lips and invited him in and he felt his husband's hands grasp both sides of his head to grip it almost desperately as if it were some sort of lifeline.

For several seconds, the only sounds in their loft were the rumbles of pleasure being emitted from their throats, the rustling of clothing as their hands began an exploration over each other's backs, and the occasional sharp sound of a beeping horn outside or a nearby cardinal singing from one of the trees in the rear, shaded courtyard out back as they continued to kiss. Time simply seemed to stop for a moment as they reacquainted themselves through expressions of their deep love.

The two reluctantly broke apart to take in some much-needed air a few minutes later, their breaths ragged and shallow. Brian could feel his heart beginning to pound furiously as Justin stared into his eyes for a moment before gently pushing on his chest in a silent request for him to lie back on the couch. As he did, his hands reached up to grasp Justin's upper arms firmly but tenderly as he gazed into the intense blue eyes staring down at him. His husband's unshed tears had made them sparkle with brilliance from the nearby glow of the side lamp, and his eyes widened in shock as he realized what Justin was doing.

As the blond began to silently tug on his shirt buttons to open them, Brian didn't dare say anything out loud for fear the magic spell would be abruptly broken; as Justin finished opening Brian's shirt and pulled it back almost reverently to run his hands lightly and familiarly over Brian's chest, the brunet closed his eyes in ecstasy at his husband's loving touch. It had been so long…so very long.

He watched, fascinated, as Justin's head lowered to concentrate on what he was doing as his hands moved to Brian's dress pants and he began to unbutton the single button located there. His breath caught in his throat as one of Justin's long-fingered hands unexpectedly brushed against his cock; the sensation, even though it only lasted a virtual second, was enough for Brian's body to harden at the movement. He could feel the blood rushing to his dick as Justin slowly pulled his zipper down and he waited for what was going to happen next. He didn't dare make any movement or sound – what would transpire from here would have to be up to Justin.

He lowered his gaze to watch silently as he saw his husband slowly move down his body until his lips were poised inches above his belly. He knew what Justin was planning – his body was yearning, craving it – but he also knew how risky this might be. Would Justin's desire to please him only add to his nightmares over what had happened? He finally had to speak as he placed his hands lightly on Justin's head for attention. "Justin…." he began warningly, wanting so badly to make love with his husband, but afraid of what might happen as a result.

"Shh….," Justin murmured against his stomach. "Please…let me…," he pleaded softly, his warm breath blowing on Brian's belly and making the brunet shiver slightly with anticipation and desire. "I love you so much…..let me do this…Please," he continued to plead as his hand reached over to cup the now throbbing, hard shaft through the fabric.

Brian moaned at the gentle contact and then gasped as Justin gave his cock an even firmer squeeze through his briefs which were quickly becoming wet with his pre-cum. "Justin….." he groaned as an intense sensation washed over him at his husband's touch. "Fuck," he cried out softly as he arched his back upward in response as Justin began to stroke the quickly-hardening organ expertly. Only Justin could make him feel this way; only this man knew just what to do and how to do it to make his body thrum with exquisite pleasure.

Brian opened his eyes to stare down into the hypnotizing ice-blue orbs of his husband just before Justin lowered his head to concentrate again on his task. Shortly afterward, he felt a cool wisp of air against his heated body as Justin finally took hold of the waistband of his pants and tugged both the linen fabric and his briefs down in one motion to pool around his thighs. He closed his eyes in anticipation and apprehension, not sure if Justin could go through with his intention as his body ached for the release so close within his grasp and so eagerly anticipated.

His hands fisted in Justin's head as he grabbed a handful of the soft hair when he felt Justin's tongue take a tentative swipe across the length of his shaft. "Ahhh," he moaned loudly as he felt the hot, wet tongue of his lover began a languorous journey from the tip of his cock upward and he then felt a hand curl around the base. "Justin….." he whispered raggedly, his body temperature rising exponentially as he at last felt Justin's lips tentatively surround his tip and a piece of saliva-coated tongue come out to swirl it for good measure. It had been so long…so fucking long…and it felt so good, even better than he had remembered. So good…

His chest arched up again in exquisite pleasure as Justin placed one hand on his right hip for balance and kept his other hand near the base of Brian's cock as his mouth opened to take more of him in. "God!" the brunet cried out, the feeling almost too much to bear. "Justin….." he breathed out as he continued to rub subconscious, almost aimless circles on top of the blond head. Justin began to pace himself as he expertly relaxed his throat in acquiescence to Brian's urgent wish to mouth-fuck him. Their movements kept perfect pace with each other as Justin began to pump Brian's cock in and out of his mouth now, his hand keeping the same rhythm as he silently urged his lover to surrender to his pleasure.

There would be no teasing, no waiting for Brian to come down only to bring him to the brink again, no letting up on Justin's part this time. He was steadfast and relentless on what he wanted, what he _needed_ to do for Brian, as he continued to skillfully urge his husband to reach his pinnacle of ecstasy. It didn't take long, then, before Brian let out an even louder moan and erupted in a stream of release; his husband deftly held onto him firmly until he had swallowed every delectable drop down his throat.

Brian's chest heaved from the intense, mind-blowing experience as he lay there, body slicked with sweat from the exertion; his heart continued to almost threaten to leave his chest from the experience. He frantically tried to calm his breathing for several seconds before he could whisper, "Come up here."

Justin slowly crawled, fully clothed still, up his husband's body; Brian could feel his cock twitching unbelievably as if it were trying to come back to life as the blond finally lay fully pressed down upon him, face to face. His eyes were wide with emotion as Brian smiled up at him lovingly. "Justin….." he murmured, still trying to catch his breath fully. "I…I can't believe you were…..you were able to _do_ that." He reached up to tenderly wipe some sweat-soaked hair back from where it stuck to the blond's forehead again and was partially covering his eyes, and he noticed what appeared to be freshly-appearing tears there. He immediately berated himself for allowing Justin to go through with sucking him off; what an insensitive idiot he was. "Shit….Justin….I'm sorry, Sunshine," he murmured, cupping his hands on either side of the pale face.

Justin shook his head as much as was possible with Brian's hands cradling it and said, "No….I'm okay," he assured him. "I wanted to do that…..I _had_ to do that."

Brian studied the beautiful face. "Are you sure?" he asked, not quite convinced but wanting so much to believe it. "No regrets?"

Justin actually smiled back at him and shook his head. "No," he whispered. "It felt good, Brian. It felt so good."

Brian pursed his lips together in an attempt not to let the tears fall that he could feel stinging his own eyes. He nodded. "I'm so glad, Justin." He curled his lips under and added, "It felt really good to me, too, Sunshine."

The side of Justin's mouth curled up in response as the two men gazed into each other's eyes, each knowing this was at least one step forward in Justin's recovery.

Brian could feel the hardness of Justin's cock resting between them as he asked hopefully, "I'd like to return the favor." _Please…_

Justin's heart desperately wanted to be able to say yes; but he held back. Could he handle that? He gazed down into Brian's tender eyes. "I….I don't know," he answered honestly. "I want you to. But I don't know."

Brian's heart rose with hope. He wasn't refusing his offer outright this time. Was it possible…..? "You want to try?" he asked softly.

Justin bit his lip in uncertainty. He missed this closeness with Brian, the feeling of Brian loving him, the feeling of being one with him. He finally nodded silently in agreement. "Yes," he whispered.

Brian gazed up at him intently as he reached up to brush his fingers across Justin's full lower lip, his mouth still swollen from their earlier kisses. "Here? Or the bed?" he asked softly, his heart beginning to pick up pace again as he anticipated what they were about to try and do. If this succeeded…..

Justin considered that question; the bed would be more comfortable, but he was afraid it would also remind him of what had happened before with Prescott at the cabin. Right now, he only wanted to concentrate on Brian's loving touch, not the touch of that monster, and the couch might help to push the other man's vile assaults out of his mind. "Here," he decided finally, gazing down into his husband's hopeful eyes.

Brian nodded, his heart pounding even harder as he gently pushed Justin to the side until they were facing each other on the couch. He managed to scoot over enough on the couch so that Justin could eventually twist around to lie on his back. As Brian continued to lie there on his side, studying his husband's face, he prayed this would work. It wasn't a solution to all their problems – that would take a long time, he had no doubt – but it would be a start. He nodded encouragingly to Justin as he whispered, "Just breath, Justin. Take deep breaths." He reached over to Justin's jeans, stopping his movements initially to just rest his hands at the waistband and allow the blond to adjust to them being there. Slow and steady…..

He waited for several, pregnant seconds until he saw Justin give him a slight nod of encouragement to continue. With slightly shaking hands, he began to unbutton the single button located at the fly and then stopped once he had succeeded, again seeking subtle permission to proceed as he gazed once more into the blue eyes.

"Do it," Justin breathed out as he closed his eyes, trying hard not to make his body tense as he waited for Brian to continue.

He squeezed his eyes shut even harder as he felt Brian's hand gently pulling the zipper down on his pants. He again felt his husband stop after this next action, taking an inordinate amount of time and care not to hurry anything but let Justin set the correct pace.

"It's okay," Justin hissed out as his hands blindly came up and located Brian's biceps. He rested his hands there like some anchor in a fierce storm as he said. "Keep going."

Brian took a deep breath and held it as his still-shaking hands reached for Justin's waistband; grabbing both pants and briefs, he slowly began to pull them down the slim body several inches until at last the symbol of Justin's desire for him was exposed. He temporarily forgot his promise to go slow as his desire began to increase and he reached over to gently but firmly curl one hand over the hard but silky shaft and thrill at the familiar, sensual touch; he was relieved to hear Justin's soft sigh of contentment in reaction. "So beautiful, Justin…..so fucking beautiful," Brian couldn't help murmuring aloud as he looked up to check his husband's reaction and noticed his eyes closed in pleasure.

Justin tried desperately to keep Brian's voice in his mind, to stay in the here and now, to remember who he was with – the man he deeply loved and who would never, ever hurt him. The man who had stood by him so many times over the years and who wanted to spend the rest of his life with him; the man who was so eager to show him just how much he cherished him.

But at the sound of Brian's heartfelt murmurings of appreciation – at the sound of the word _beautiful_ – all of a sudden someone _else's_ voice came flooding back to him. Someone else who had taken hold of his cock with a husky declaration of how beautiful he was just before he began to assault him against his will – and the revulsion washed over him once more at the horrible memory.

Brian watched with alarm as Justin's eyes flew open and he began to struggle in his hold; he watched the slim body grow rigid with tension, horror and fear as he began to thrash. "No!" Justin cried. "Stop!" He continued to rail against the taller man as Brian's heart dropped in sorrow and he quickly twisted away from Justin's body to free the blond from his grasp. He reached out his hand toward his husband, not sure if he should try and touch Justin again or not. "Justin!" he cried out urgently. "It's okay…..you're safe. It's me…..Brian! Justin!" he called out more loudly. "It's alright….look at me! Please!"

He watched as Justin's eyes finally focused on him as the words sunk in and the blond's body slumped in realization over what had happened – again. Justin covered his eyes with his hands in anguish. "Not again," he wailed. "Not again….." He bit his lip in anguish as he felt the sobs threatening to erupt. He sat up on the couch, his pants and briefs still pushed down on his thighs but presently forgotten. "God….." he whispered. "No."

He finally opened his eyes to stare over into the pain-filled hazel ones of his husband, who had quickly raised his own body to sit next to his; he wasn't sure which one of them was the most disappointed as their expressions were a mirror of each other's. "Brian…..I'm sorry, so sorry…." he began.

Brian shook his head firmly, wanting so badly to reach out and stroke Justin's back in comfort but afraid. "Don't you dare say that," he responded, his eyes flashing. "None of this is your fault! You hear me?" He had to know, though. "Why did you have me stop, Justin? What happened?"

Justin shook his head, unable to answer for several seconds as his body shook with repulsion over the same exact words that Prescott had uttered to him. He took a shuddering breath finally and turned to face the bewildered hazel eyes of the man who loved him. "What you…what you said," he whispered. "He said the same thing to me before, before he…" He pursed his lips together and shook his head, unable to continue.

"Oh, fuck," Brian whispered in agony, finally understanding. "Justin….." He again held his hand out toward Justin but didn't touch him, afraid of what the response would be. He balled it into a fist of frustration as it remained suspended in the air with no place to go.

Justin's eyes filled with tears over Brian's reaction; he couldn't let Brian feel any guiltier than he knew he already did. "Brian," he whispered, scooting over so he could be closer to his husband. "Brian, it's not your fault, either…..Hold me…..just hold me."

Brian reached out immediately to sweep Justin into his arms and wrap his hands firmly around the trembling back. He rocked him lightly back and forth comfortingly. "We'll get through this, Justin," he murmured against the top of the blond head. "Together…we'll get through this."

As they sat clinging to each other like a ship bucking against the violent waves of the sea, Brian couldn't help thinking that the next counseling session couldn't come soon enough.


	23. What's Not To Like About Angels?

_Next Morning – 9:55 a.m._

"Brian, Justin….come on in." Mark Anderson studied the couple walking into his office for their second therapy session and could readily tell that something was troubling them. Of course, they had a multitude of reasons for feeling that way. But he had spent years being able to decipher how his patients were feeling at any given time by studying their body language and facial expressions – it helped him to direct the session more productively if he could hone in on their emotions – and he could tell they were unhappy about something.

Both men's faces looked drawn and tight, a fairly dramatic turn from the other day when they have been more demonstrative toward each other. "Have a seat, gentlemen," he instructed them, eyeing each man carefully. He noticed they took a seat close together on the couch as Brian immediately reached out to link his hand with Justin's; the blond instantly curled his fingers over the oher man's almost instinctively in return. _At least that was a good sign_, Anderson thought, although after seeing the tender looks that had passed between them before, he really hadn't had any doubt that they still loved each other deeply. That didn't mean, though, that there weren't a myriad of issues that needed to be addressed.

"Well, this is our second therapy session, gentlemen," he said by way of introduction. "The first session was mainly to become more familiar with the routine and to obtain some preliminary background information. Today I hope we can delve a little deeper into more of what transpired with you especially, Justin, so we can start to work on some coping strategies – for both of you." He eyed them carefully, noticing the distressed look on Justin's face in particular. "Before we do, however, I think it's important to establish all the facts leading up to the kidnapping and assault so I can determine how best to treat you."

He looked directly at the blond as he advised, "Justin, I mentioned to you the other day that I was in attendance at the benefit when your painting was sold at the auction and you first had contact with Prescott. So I am aware of how the two of you came to meet. But I should also tell you that because of the intense publicity that surrounded the trial with Prescott a year ago, I am fairly familiar with that event as well. In fact, I was there at the trial, also."

He noticed the odd, incredulous looks both men were giving him as if he were some kind of courtroom groupie as he hastened to explain. "I know it sounds weird that I happened to be at both, but I can assure you it's just a coincidence. I already told you of my own sexual orientation, and I am very involved with charitable causes, including those sponsored by the Gay & Lesbian Alliance. So it's not unusual for me – in fact, it's a standard practice of mine – to attend several charity events a year for their causes."

"As far as the trial goes, I simply attended as an interested spectator – to help me better understand the human psyche, I often slip into one of the courtroom seats to observe the interaction among a case's plaintiff and defendant, as well as the judges, attorneys, and witnesses. I find it makes me develop an even shrewder understanding of interpersonal relationships. It may sound rather quirky, but I actually do this on my own free time when I am on vacation, as was the case with your trial."

Justin was somewhat shocked, although he had to admit – it wouldn't be his idea of a good time, but at the moment perhaps it was advantageous that the therapist had been present for both events – at least it would help him not to have to go over every sordid detail with him, especially in front of Brian. It wasn't that he was trying to deliberately keep anything from his husband, but if it wasn't necessary to divulge every painful detail, he would prefer not to. He nodded silently at the doctor's admission. "Makes sense, I guess," he whispered.

"Good," Anderson told them. "Well, then, Justin, as I said, I know some of the background information – how you and Prescott met, how he pursued you against your wishes, and how he ultimately was punished for what he did and was sent to prison." Anderson looked over at Brian, who snorted derisively at his statement. "Brian? You wanted to comment?"

Brian huffed loudly. "That fucker didn't get nearly what he deserved for what he put Justin through," he growled. "Burning in hell isn't even enough."

"Brian…." Justin murmured in an attempt to calm him; he squeezed his hand comfortingly. "It's okay…he needs to know." He turned to look at the therapist. "Yes, your facts are correct," he told him.

"You mean as far as it goes," the doctor urged him. "What I know are the bare bones of the cold, hard facts of what transpired. What I need for _you_ to do is fill me in on the rest."

"The rest?" Justin asked.

The doctor nodded as he stared at both men. He had a feeling so far, based on Brian's almost obsessive need to protect his husband that some of what Justin was going to tell him would be harder on Brian than on Justin himself. He wondered silently just how much Justin had told his partner about what had happened. Well, they were about to find out. "Yes….I need for you to concentrate more on your emotions during what happened – how you felt, how he made you feel."

Justin sighed as he glanced over at Brian, who jaw was set in a hard line at the thought of what Prescott had done to him. He knew he hadn't told Brian a lot of what had happened, and he had been hoping – fairly naively, he supposed – that he wouldn't have to disclose most of it. But he could see that apparently wasn't going to be the case.

"Where do I start?" he asked the doctor.

"Well...tell me what your first impression was of Lane Prescott – the first time the two of you met. It was at dinner, correct?"

Justin glanced over at Brian to try and reassure him that everything would be okay before nodding. "Yeah, that's right."

"Well, what did you think of him at first? I believe during the trial you had mentioned you were impressed by him."

Justin fidgeted in slight discomfort as he admitted, "Yes…..I thought he was very kind, that he was a gentleman."

The doctor nodded as he chewed on the end of a pencil thoughtfully. "So you liked him at first."

Justin let out a shaky breath; they were just getting started with therapy and already he could practically feel the hostility for Prescott rolling off Brian's shoulders as he continued to grasp his hand in support. He nodded. "Yeah….I thought he was nice. It was flattering, I guess, that someone like him would be interested in me."

"Someone like you?"

"Well, he was successful, powerful, and influential. I wasn't exactly the most affluent person at the time," he explained with a slight laugh of irony. He added softly, "I thought he was very attractive….at first." He glanced once more at Brian who was eyeing him intently, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable talking about this in front of him.

"Was it the money and power that made him attractive to you, then?"

"Fuck, no," he hastily explained. "I mean, l like nice things like the next person. But that wasn't what made him attractive to me at the time."

Anderson leaned back in his chair and eyed the blond carefully as he stole a glance at his husband seated beside him. He could tell by the look on Brian's face that he wasn't too pleased with this line of questioning, but it was important to get all the facts out on the table, however painful it might be.

"Then what _was_ it that you liked about him?"

Justin opened his mouth to respond but stopped when he heard Brian utter what sounded like a sigh of disgust as he squirmed on the couch next to him.

"Can I ask just what the fuck this all has to do with the here and now, Doc?" Brian growled. "I thought this was about _us_, not that…..that motherfucking piece of shit that didn't deserve to be born in the first place!"

"It is," Anderson replied evenly, nonplussed by the sudden burst of profanity. "But as hard as it may be to deal with, Prescott is the reason why you ARE here in the first place. I can't help you move forward if I don't know all the details about what caused you to wind up in your predicament in the first place."

Brian's eyes flashed in irritation as Anderson suggested, "If this part is too hard for you to hear, perhaps you should consider stepping outside until Justin and I are finished. But I wouldn't recommend that, Brian; you both asked for joint counseling for a reason. If you start breaking into individual sessions, you will still have a need to see me together at some point in order for me to really help you."

"Brian?" Justin asked his husband softly. "Is that what you want? Because if it is, I would understand." In a way, he dreaded having Brian here with him during this line of questioning. It was hard enough having to rehash his relationship with Prescott all over again without Brian being privy to everything he was saying. He hadn't told Brian all of what had happened in hopes of not hurting him anymore than he had to. He desperately wanted and needed his husband's support right now, but the last thing he wanted to do was cause the man he loved any more pain at his expense.

Brian squeezed Justin's hand tightly, almost painfully, as he stared into the intense blue eyes. "Is that what I _want_?" he whispered to him. "Hell, yeah, that's what I want! I don't _want_ to hear about how wonderful Prescott was and how shitty I was to you at the time. No, let me finish," he insisted as Justin tried to interject something. "Is that what I _want_? Yes. But I'm not going to do that. You and I are a team now, Justin; we're fucking _married_. And despite what I might have said in the past about the concept of marriage in general, you changed my mind. I never would have thought of ever entertaining such a notion until we met. And, yes, it _did_ take a bomb to make me come to my fucking senses. But now that it has, I'm not going anywhere, period, end of discussion…..okay?"

Justin's eyes teared up at the heartfelt declaration as he felt Brian squeeze his hand again. "Okay," he whispered at last in a choked voice. He turned to face the doctor, who was watching their exchange intently. "I…..I was attracted to him because he treated me like I was special."

"And how did he do that?"

Justin let out a ragged breath, feeling decidedly awkward over this line of questioning. He did his best, however, to try and be candid with his response. "He…He complimented me on my artistic talent. He was considerate of my feelings…..He didn't try to rush becoming…..becoming _physical_," he whispered, not able to look Brian in the face. He knew that Brian was convinced of how much he loved him, how deeply he loved him, but this still had to be extremely hard for him to hear. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Brian was still _Brian_; he still didn't like other men even giving him so much as a sideways glance when they were out. And he sure as hell didn't like Prescott making advances on him, whether they had been somewhat welcome at the time or not. He sighed softly as he told the doctor simply, "He made me feel unique."

The next comment slipped out before he could stop himself, even though it involved a name that was such a horrible word to even think about now; somehow, though, he felt this awful need to talk about it. "He called me his _Angel_." His face contorted with pain as he spat the word out in contempt; he could almost hear Prescott still calling him that even now and worse, he could almost feel his hands on his body as he had said it to him. How could such a normally beautiful word become such a horrible, dispicable utterance?

He shuddered visibly at the recollection as Brian let go of his hand and placed it around his shoulders to pull him closer. That silent show of support was enough for him to continue as the words began to tumble out. "At first I sort of liked it. He said it as if he thought I was that one in a million person. After….after what he did to me, though, every time I think of that word now or even see just a picture of any kind of angel, I get sick to my stomach and want to puke." He bit his lip in distress as he lowered his voice and whispered, "When I was growing up, my family used to place this old-fashioned angel on top of the Christmas tree. It was always my favorite part of the decorations. Now? I wouldn't even be able to stay in the same room if they put it there."

Brian's pursed his mouth together firmly, almost painfully in anger, the veins popping out on his neck. _That fucking son of a bitch_, he couldn't help thinking. A sudden image came to his mind from when Justin had been hospitalized after Prescott had drugged him. He had noticed Justin's nipple ring with a small, gold angel attached to it; the piece of jewelry, along with Justin's wallet and other personal effects, had been given to Jennifer at the hospital for safekeeping and he had never seen the charm again after that. He had assumed Justin had picked it up somewhere while shopping and hadn't told him about it; at the time, he had been so concerned for his lover's life that something like that was the last thing on his mind. But now….now a feeling of dread and jealousy rose to the surface, and for some reason he had to know. "Justin….that angel charm you were wearing when you were drugged. Where did that come from?"

Justin frowned; he had no idea what Brian was talking about. "What charm?"

Brian huffed in frustration as he almost idly rubbed small circles on his husband's shoulder. "The gold charm that was attached to your nipple ring when you were brought into the hospital," he explained, barely keeping his voice level. He didn't really know why he was getting so upset about it, but just the thought of that fucking monster touching Justin, calling him that name, and giving him jewelry made his blood boil.

Justin looked at Brian in disbelief. "What are you talking about, Brian? I've never worn a charm on my nipple ring."

Brian's hand dropped from around Justin's shoulder as he hissed out, "Oh, yes you did. There was one attached to it when the nurse at the hospital gave your mom your personal things that day."

"I swear, Brian, I have no idea where it came from!" he cried in distress. "My mother never gave it to me and I don't have any memory of even getting that! Prescott must have given it to me."

"But you don't remember?" he asked, incredulous. "How do you forget something like that, Justin? I thought we were going to be honest here. You don't have to spare MY feelings."

Justin's face clouded over. "I AM being honest, Brian! I don't know HOW it got there! Fuck! Why don't you believe me?" He crossed his hands over his chest and turned his face away from his husband, stunned by the insinuation that he wasn't being truthful.

"Gentlemen, let's think this through," Anderson interjected, trying to calm them down before things got out of hand. "I know from what I've read that you were drugged, Justin, through a drink Prescott gave you. GHB?"

"Yes," Justin whispered to him painfully, still avoiding looking Brian in the eyes.

"And it rendered you unconscious before he took you onto his yacht in an attempt to leave with you?"

"Yes."

"Then isn't it possible that he may have placed it on the ring without your knowledge? How much do you remember about being onboard his yacht, Justin?"

Justin closed his eyes as the details of that horrible period washed over him. It was just like the Prom all over again, because he didn't remember a thing from the time he passed out until he came to several hours later in the hospital. It was only through what Brian and the police had told him later that he had figured out what exactly had happened to him.

He opened his eyes back up and turned to see Brian staring at him, his face an image of regretful realization now. "I don't remember any of it," Justin told the doctor, but he was looking at his husband when he said it. "I don't remember anything until I woke up in the hospital and you were there at my bedside."

"Justin…."

The blond shook his head, his eyes bright with unshed tears he was furiously trying to hold back. He didn't want the doctor – or Brian – to think of him as weak. He had had more than enough of playing that role lately and he was sick to death of it. "I didn't have anything to do with it, Brian," he stiffly told the brunet. "I didn't put that on."

"I know," Brian whispered back as he reached to take Justin's hand. Justin, however, kept his arms tightly crossed against his chest and remained silent, the hurt obvious in his eyes.

"Well, I think we have our solution, gentlemen," Dr. Anderson advised them. He could tell by the hurt expressions on both the men's faces that they were being truthful in their responses; he had enough experience in his field to recognize that fact. Sadly, though, this was just the beginning of what was no doubt going to be an extremely long and somewhat painful journey toward their recovery.

Dr. Anderson glanced apologetically at his small, square-shaped silver desk clock. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Taylor-Kinney, but our session is up for the day. I have you scheduled for your next appointment on Friday at the same time. We'll continue our discussion then, okay?"

The two men nodded silently as they rose together. Justin pulled his hands away from his chest as he stood up, said a hurried, "Thank you, Doctor," and immediately turned to leave, not giving Brian so much as a sideways glance.

Brian watched him walk into the hall and sighed. "I really fucked that up, didn't it?" he softly asked the doctor as he rubbed his chin restlessly with his hand. "That was so really productive," he added sarcastically.

The doctor peered back at him wistfully. "Actually, believe it or not, Brian, it _was_. Not everything in here will be smooth sailing. The idea is to get the two of you talking about what happened so you can learn from it and move toward healing. A lot of what both you and Justin will discuss is going to be painful. But in the long run, that pain will hopefully provide both of you with a means to triumph from it." He stared sympathetically at the broken-looking, elegant man. "I know it's not what you want to hear, Brian, but you have to give it time. There's no easy solution here. But I CAN tell you that it will be worth it. The two of you care deeply for each other – that is obvious even when you _are_ 'fucking it up' as you put it. Just be there for him right now – that's what he needs the most. Just be there to catch him when he falls and he needs someone to support him."

Brian looked at him incredulously. "Even after what I just did?"

The doctor smiled. "He's hurt, yes. But he loves you. And I think he understands where your feelings are coming from. Go talk to him. _Make_ him realize how much he means to you and reiterate to him that you're in it for the long run. It will work out – just don't stop communicating with each other, okay? That's going to the key to his recovery – and _yours_. Don't forget he's not the _only_ one who's been affected here."

Brian sighed. "Believe me, Doc, I'm well aware of that, trust me." He turned to see if he could spy Justin but the blond had moved quickly out of sight. "I'd better go find out where he went," he told the doctor. "He's really skittish right now about even being out in public, especially alone."

The doctor nodded. "Certainly understandable," he agreed. "I'll see you on Friday."

Brian acknowledged his statement with a curt nod before rushing out into the hallway to find Justin. His heart began to race as he came out into the reception area and didn't see him there waiting in one of the chairs. He quickly walked up to the front desk. "Excuse me – did you see where my husband went just now?" he asked anxiously.

"He walked out," she reported succinctly as she reached to answer the phone lines that were furiously ringing. Brian didn't spare the woman any more of his time as his heart raced in alarm. Rushing toward the door, he flung it open, noticing immediately that Justin wasn't in the car. "Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling even worse than before. "Justin!" he called out, not caring if anyone wondered what was going on. "Justin, answer me!" he demanded. He walked down the narrow sidewalk, scanning both sides of the street but there was no sign of his husband. "Justin!" he called out even louder, but the only answer he received was the sound of the rapidly-strengthening wind, signaling an impending thunderstorm. He glanced up at the threatening, dark clouds, his fears increasing with each passing minute. "Where ARE you, Sunshine?" he murmured plaintively, worry etched on his face.

He stood there, immobile and wondering what to do. There was no way he was leaving without his husband. He huffed out a frustrated breath. "Come on, Justin, help me here," he pleaded softly.

Finally, he spotted a mop of blond hair halfway up the block, his husband's slender frame sitting dejectedly on a bus stop bench. He sighed, enormously relieved that Justin appeared to be all right. No, that wasn't quite accurate; he knew he was upset with him. But at least he was safe for the time being. If Justin thought he was going to try and catch a bus, though, he was dead wrong. He quickly used the advantage of his long, lean legs to hurry up the block toward his target before he had a chance to try and leave.

At first, Justin had his head down and apparently didn't hear his footsteps. As he approached closer to him, however, he watched as his husband's head jerked up and turned to stare at him. Brian's heart dropped at the tear-stained look on the blond's face as he stood up abruptly, apparently intending to walk away from him.

"Don't you fucking dare, Justin Taylor-Kinney!" he commanded in a forceful voice. Thankfully, Justin for some reason obeyed him as he stopped in his tracks but kept his back to him. He slowly approached his husband, almost scared to react too quickly for fear the blond would take off running away from him.

He let out a relieved breath as he quietly walked up to the younger man…his soulmate; the only man he had ever given his heart to and ever would. He wanted so badly to touch him, to comfort him, but he was afraid he would be rejected and his heart couldn't handle that at the moment.

"Justin…" he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I…..I don't know what to say."

"How about that you're sorry for what you said, for what you accused me of."

Brian brushed one hand through his hair as he heard the distant rumbling of thunder in the distance; somehow the pounding in his heart seemed louder to his ears than the approaching storm. "You know I am," he answered sincerely. "Surely you realize that."

The blond didn't reply, making Brian even more nervous. "Justin, talk to me," he pressed. "Please."

His husband whirled around to face him; his beautiful face contorted in sorrow. "Why did you get so upset with me, Brian? It was just a stupid charm, for fuck's sake! And I didn't even know about it! Why, Brian? I don't fucking understand!" He hugged his arms around his slender body, his eyes bright and bewildered. "What was so important about that piece of jewelry?"

Brian sighed and slowly walked closer to him, noticing with dread that Justin actually backed up slightly in response. "It….it really wasn't about the goddamn charm, Justin," he told the blond, who brows rose slightly in confusion. "It wasn't the charm," he repeated. "It was what it represented, I guess."

Justin shook his head. "What in the hell does _that_ mean, Brian?"

Brian looked down in embarrassment. "It….it reminded me of what I almost lost back then. It reminded me that I never treated you the way you wanted to be treated. It reminded me that I could have lost you." He finally looked up to see Justin staring intently back at him. He took a breath to steel himself to tell Justin all of it as he bared his soul. "I was so fucking jealous of the attention he was paying to you, and I was so terrified that he would take you away from me. When you told Anderson about his….his _nickname_ for you, and then I remembered that damn charm from the hospital, I guess I just lost it. Just the idea of that man touching you…..pawing at you….God, Justin, it just made me so fucking angry."

Justin let out a frustrated breath, but his own anger was dissipating slowly at his husband's heartfelt words that he so seldom expressed out loud. Oh, he had gotten much better about telling him he loved him, and he had always _shown_ him how he felt if he was paying attention, but it was still rare that Brian Kinney wore his heart so openly on his sleeve like he was doing right now.

"Brian," he said softly as he looked into the anxious hazel eyes staring back at him. "Don't you know by now that I'm not going anywhere? That I _wasn't_ going anywhere? I chose YOU over him from the start." He sighed. "Yeah, it was flattering at first but it didn't take me long to realize that I loved _you_, that I would _always_ love you." His voice softened as he whispered, "I still do….and I always will. Even if you do make me angry as hell sometimes."

Brian curled his lips under in relief as his guilt and uncertainty began to ease. A large clap of thunder suddenly let loose, making both men jump as large drops of water began to pour down from the dark clouds directly above. Within seconds, the rain began to pour from the sky and both men were drenched. Brian rushed up to Justin and wrapped his arms around the soaked body. As he looked down into the intense blue eyes, he knew they needed to make a run for the car but at that moment, he couldn't think of another time where Justin had looked more beautiful, even with his hair plastered to his face from the rain.

"God, I love you, too," he whispered before he leaned down to give his husband a short but passionate kiss. As they broke apart, the water began to pour down their faces. "Come on," he urged with a tender smile. "This is no place for Sunshine today." He was at last rewarded with a small smile at his terrible joke as, hand in hand, they ran toward the car, both hearts now just a little lighter than before.


	24. Washing Away the Guilt

The ride home was spent in relative silence, each man thinking about the latest episode at the counseling session. It was weird in a way how one little gold charm could have sparked such a firestorm of emotion. But it was more than just the charm, they both realized. It was much more than just a piece of jewelry signifying some pet name. It had brought out a range of emotions, all the way from jealousy to helplessness. The session itself had also served to bring up some past memories that perhaps they would have preferred been best left alone. But they also knew that wasn't going to be possible; not if they wanted to clear the air totally and move ahead.

Dr. Anderson had told Brian it wasn't going to be easy. He was quickly realizing just that as he glanced over at Justin, who had his eyes closed and his head turned toward him in the passenger seat. The day's events had left both of them emotionally spent. Even in his troubled state, though, Justin still looked beautiful to him. He would _always_ be beautiful to him. Hoping he wouldn't disturb him, Brian reached over to lightly grasp the pale hand lying next to the seat; Justin stirred slightly in his sleep but didn't wake as he linked his hand instinctively with his. Warmed by at the gesture, Brian drove back to their loft, both of their hands clutched together the entire way.

* * *

_The Next Day – 9:00 a.m._

Justin let out a heavy sigh as he tried to convince himself to rise from his and Brian's bed; as he reached over to place his palm down on the mattress, he could still feel some residual warmth from where his husband had been sleeping earlier. The two of them hadn't spoken much since they had gotten home yesterday afternoon, mainly just small snippets of conversation about unimportant matters. It wasn't that they were still angry with each other; their initial feelings of irritation had dissipated by now. It was more like they were just emotionally weary of the complexity and weight of it all and had preferred not to dwell on it, at least for the time being.

As Justin had silently climbed into his side of their bed last night and Brian had reached over to gather him in his arms, however, he had automatically placed his own arms over Brian's to find comfort in the secure, protective feelings he always experienced when Brian held him. When he did, it was as if for just a brief moment nothing else mattered and no one would ever hurt them again. He had been thankful that due no doubt in large part to Brian holding him while he slept, he hadn't experienced any nightmares or flashbacks during the night. Now, though, in the quickly awakening breath of daylight, he knew he had to get up, but for what reason?

He had insisted that his husband go to work today; he was feeling guilty enough about how much time he had forced Brian to miss from his business and didn't want to be responsible for Kinnetik suffering as a result. That left him, though, with several hours of being by himself and he hated it. He _also_ hated how Prescott had managed to turn him into a scared little faggot. This was _not_ who he was; it was not who he wanted to be. As he slowly rose from the bed to retrieve some clean clothes from the dresser drawer and take a shower, he once again cursed the man who had done this to him – and to Brian.

_Brian_. He closed his eyes in guilt and regret. He hated how this was affecting the man he loved and who had supported him so faithfully over the past couple of years during Prescott's relentless pursuit of him. How he wished they could go back to before this had all started. Of course, if they had, perhaps he never would have experienced some of the joys that had come with the pain – his and Brian's wedding in Vermont, their wondrous honeymoon in Mykonos, this incredible home that was uniquely theirs. And he would have never opened up his studio downstairs, the studio that had previously given him so much intense pleasure and pride, but now filled him with sorrow and pain instead.

He was so tired of feeling this way; so anxious to break out of this dark place he found himself in. _Please…._he pleaded silently as he made his way into the shower. _Please help us get back to the way we were…._

Twenty minutes later he emerged from the shower, his body feeling more energized but not his spirit. He wrapped one of the thick, navy-blue Egyptian cotton towels around his torso as he walked back into the bedroom and picked up the clothes he had laid out on the bed.

As he finished getting dressed a few minutes later, his heart threatened to burst from his chest as he heard someone knocking softly on the door downstairs. _Breathe, Justin_, he told himself. _Breathe_. He warred internally over being worried about who might be wanting to get in versus needing to have personal contact with someone, _anyone_, from the outside world before finally deciding he desperately wanted to have some companionship while Brian was gone and deciding to swallow the lump of fear in his throat.

He took a deep breath to calm himself before turning to walk out into the hallway and down the steps. He could see the shadow of someone standing on the front stoop through one of the narrow, frosted side windows of their door as he quietly crept downstairs. His heart leapt into his throat as the person raised his or her hand and knocked once more, this time a little louder. He sighed in great relief, though, when he heard his mother's familiar voice of concern calling for him through the door.

"Justin? Are you in there? It's Mom, Honey….Please open the door."

Jennifer raised her hand, about to knock once more, when she stopped mid-air as she heard the deadbolt being slid back and the door slowly opening. She bit back her dismay at her son's appearance; while he was dressed neatly enough in his standard comfortable, worn blue jeans and a maroon, v-necked, long-sleeve t-shirt, it was his face that made her the most alarmed. The beautiful face that was always so animated and full of life was drawn, almost wrinkled, old-looking in a way that belied his young age. She really shouldn't have been surprised, though; after what her son had been through in the past year, especially in the last couple of weeks, the experience would have aged even the most fearless person.

She tried hard to paste a reassuring smile on her face as she greeted her only son. "Justin," she murmured softly. She stared into her son's troubled eyes for a moment before pulling him into her arms and hugging him tightly, wrapping her hands around his trembling back that seemed even smaller and more slender than before. Had her son been eating since his ordeal? She held onto him for several seconds, relieved when her son's hands came around to return the gesture, until she finally released him so the two of them could enter together into the loft's foyer. "I wanted to come and see you before now," she told him. "I actually was here the other day but you were asleep. Brian thought it might be best if I gave you a little time first before I came over," she explained.

He nodded. "I know….Brian told me." He stood there, suddenly feeling awkward in front of the woman he loved dearly and who had supported him for so long through good times as well as bad. "Let's go upstairs, okay?" he suggested softly as she smiled slightly and nodded.

As they passed by her son's art studio, however, she couldn't help taking a peek; the room seemed so cold and lonely at the moment, so barren of her son's warmth and exuberance that normally pervaded the space. She noticed an unfinished painting standing on an easel, facing out onto the wall of glass windows that provided a view of the pedestrian and street traffic outside. How long had that painting sat there unattended? she couldn't help wondering. She noticed her son staring at her silently from the bottom of the landing to his apartment upstairs, and with a slightly embarrassed realization that he had observed her action, she hurried to catch up with him and join him on the steps.

"Want some coffee?" Justin asked her as they entered the upstairs landing and walked into the living room/kitchen area of the loft.

She smiled. "That'd be nice," she said as she followed her son into the kitchen and sat down on one of the bar chairs to watch him preparing the coffeemaker. She tried to be discrete as she observed him closely, not wanting him to get upset with her concern, but she couldn't take her eyes off her son. She had so much to say to him, so much to atone for, but she had no idea how to begin. Somehow, merely asking how he had been seemed totally ludicrous as an opening.

"Brian at work?" she asked as he finished scooping the coffee grounds into the basket and turned the machine off, placing two mugs down next to it as he turned around to face her.

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "He's missed too much work already."

She knew what he was really trying to say, even if the rest was left unsaid: _Because of me_….

She nodded. "Well….I hope you don't mind, Honey, but he told me the two of you are going to counseling together." Her son remained silent as she trudged on. "I admit I was a little surprised that Brian agreed to participate, but I think it's a good idea."

Justin sighed; he wasn't really surprised that she knew. He wasn't even sure how he felt about it. He supposed it didn't really matter in the long run. "Yeah," he replied. "I guess you're right."

Now that the subject was out in the open, she felt a little more confident in continuing to discuss it. "So have you started yet?"

Justin turned to pour some of the brewed coffee into the two mugs before walking back over to place them on the counter bar and take the seat opposite his mom's. She nodded silently in thanks as he told her, "Yes, we started on Monday. We've been there twice so far; our next appointment is this Friday."

She knew she was probably treading a thin line with her son between his need for privacy and her desire to see him get better, but she had to ask anyway. "So how do you think it's going? Do you think it's helping?"

He snorted softly. "Helping?" He looked over at her and shook his head at the question, both simple and complex at the same time. "I guess that depends upon your definition of the word _helping_. If you mean is it helping to dredge up unpleasant memories of what happened and if it's causing friction between Brian and me as a result, then, yes, it's _helping_," he said, pronouncing the last word almost as if it were something distasteful on his tongue.

She pursed her lips together tightly, sensing the feeling of guilt that was threatening to overwhelm her. "But surely that's part of it, isn't it?" she asked hopefully. "Surely in order to get better, you have to work through some of the pain, too."

Justin harrumphed softly. "You sound like Dr. Anderson," he replied. "That sounds just like something he would spout from his psychological pulpit."

"He's the psychologist you're seeing?"

Justin nodded.

"You don't like him?" she pressed.

He shrugged. "He's okay, I guess." He glanced over his mother's shoulder at a painting Brian had hung above their stone fireplace mantel in the living room area; it was a large, rectangular portrait of him and Gus that he had painted as a surprise present for Brian's birthday last year – before their lives had been turned upside down once more. They were so happy then – he would dare say even _deliriously happy_; now it all seemed like a pipe dream to him. He sighed as he turned his attention back to his mother's face. "I don't know if it would really matter who we had for a counselor right now," he admitted to her. "Everything is so fucked up at the moment, I don't know _how_ we're going to fix it – or maybe I should say _if_."

He watched, concerned, as his mother's face clouded over and her eyes began to water with the beginning of unshed tears. "Mom?" he asked. "What is it?"

His mother shook her head mutely as if she couldn't speak temporarily and his worry grew. "Mom…tell me. What is it?" He rubbed a hand through his hair in distress as he added, "It' okay…..don't worry; we'll work our way through it somehow."

She inhaled a weighted breath before releasing it to say, "I just feel so responsible for everything."

Justin frowned at the unexpected statement. "What are you _talking_ about, Mom? How could YOU be responsible for what happened?"

"Brian didn't tell you?"

Justin shook his head, perplexed. "Tell me what?"

His mother swallowed hard before saying, "I guess there's no easy way to say this, Justin." She peered into her son's blue eyes that were so much like her own for a few seconds before the words spilled out. "I was the one who sold the house to Prescott – the house that you and Brian wound up being held in."

Justin's breath caught in his throat at his mother's astonishing revelation. "What? How?"

"Remember the run-down mansion that I had been trying to sell for so long? The one we talked about at the diner a few weeks ago?" She let out another shaky breath. "The one I was so excited about because I would be getting a big commission out of it?"

Justin's eyes grew large as he recalled their conversation; it had only been a short while ago, but in a way it seemed like a lifetime. He remembered it well, though – it was before his and Brian's lives had been turned upside down. It was before everything as he knew it had been completely torn away from him. It was when he felt strong, confident….happy. He shook his head in disbelief as his mouth hung open. "Why? Why would you _do_ that, Mom?"

Jennifer's face was a picture of anguish as she answered, "I didn't _know_, Justin! He wasn't listed as the buyer! He had it under some LLC! I had no way of knowing." She looked at Justin in deep distress; the guilt almost overpowering as she thought about what the man had put her son through. "Do you really think I would have anything to do with him, Justin? Do you?"

Justin sighed as he shook his head, his momentary anger quickly gone. "No," he whispered painfully. "No, of course not," he assured her, realizing how impossible that would be. His mother would never do anything to hurt him intentionally. "When did you find out who it belonged to?"

"While that monster was holding you there. Carl was asking Brian to tell him about the place where he had been held, and I was able to recognize the house from the description Brian gave. It had some one-of-a-kind features that made it unique," she explained, her voice barely audible. "Justin….." She looked over at her son, her face distorted with pain and guilt. "If I had only known who it was…who I was dealing with…..none of this would have ever happened."

Justin's heart broke for his mother as she whispered her greatest regret out loud to him. Had she been carrying this burden around for days on her slight shoulders? He stood up to walk around the counter to stand next to his mother and place his hands on his hips. "Mom…..None of this is your fault. None of it. Don't you see? If Prescott hadn't found that house to use, he would have kept looking until he found another one. He wouldn't have stopped what he was doing simply because he missed out of buying that house." Justin snorted softly. "Although I imagine he took some sort of perverse pleasure in knowing that my own mother had been the one to sell him the house he was planning on keeping me in." He shook his head. "God, what a pathetic waste of a human being that man was! And what a great job he's done of passing out the guilt to everyone….including me – and you." He knelt down to gaze up into his mother's watery eyes as he gently removed her hands from her face to grasp them. "Mom….Listen to me. You have to let it go and stop feeling guilty about this – about _all _of it. Because you are not to blame, and if you keep _on_ feeling this way, he's won. And I'm not going to let that happen to the people that I care about. Neither you nor Brian had any part in what that monster did to me. You were both just a convenient and unwitting means to an end. If he hadn't been able to get you and Brian to carry out parts of it, he would have kept going until he found someone who would. Do you understand me? Mom?" He gazed intently into her eyes until finally she nodded back at him.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'll try." She peered down into the face of her son; a face that looked more determined than before, a face that held just the semblance of the courageous and fiery Justin she knew so well. "I know you're right, but….."

"No buts, Mom," he told her flatly. "No more guilt trips, no more blaming yourself for something you had no control over."

She peered down at him tenderly – her beautiful, compassionate son. Could he do the same, though? She knew her son – she knew that he was doing the exact same thing he was telling her she had no business doing. Could he follow his own advice? "What about you, Honey?" she said softly. "Can you let it go, too?"

Justin released her hands almost as if he had been burnt and stood up. "What do you mean?" he asked curtly.

She slid off the stool and placed her hands on his shoulders to get his attention. "Can you let go of the guilt, too?"

Justin shrugged off her touch and turned to walk over to the living room to stand at the railing overlooking his studio below. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom."

She walked over to join him. "No? Justin, I _know_ you. And I know you're harboring feelings of guilt about falling for Prescott's charms in the first place. You think somehow you should have known what he was really like. You think somehow you could have prevented what happened in Lancaster when Prescott drugged you and took you aboard his yacht. You think you could have been smarter and prevented all this. And you also think you're to blame for what Brian is going through now."

Justin turned to face her, his eyes flashing with anger. "Are you trying to be my fucking therapist now, Mom? I already have one, remember? Trust me, he's already digging into those issues, and it's painful enough having to talk to him about it in front of Brian." He grasped the wood railing tightly, his knuckles white with the effort as he stared down at the studio below once more. Deep down he knew his mother was right – he _did_ blame himself for everything that had happened. He should have seen through Prescott's duplicity; he should have been more alert to signs of what Prescott truly was like. He should never have fallen for his bullshit, just like he had with Ethan. If he had – if he had only been more careful – he could have somehow prevented all of this pain.

"You don't want Brian there?" She asked her son.

He turned once more to confront her. "Of course I do! I was the one who told him I wouldn't go to therapy until he went, too, because he feels so guilty about what happened. He thinks he should have somehow known his employee was working for Prescott. He thinks he should have been more suspicious of his meeting that day when he was drugged. I guess he thinks he should have been a fucking _mind reader, _too_!_" He let out an angry breath. "He's blaming himself for what happened when it was all my fault!"

Now Jennifer's eyes matched her son's; her eyes darkened as she grasped his shoulders again firmly. "No, Justin. I'm _not_ your therapist – I'm your _mother_! And it's time you start giving yourself the same compassion that you're insisting on giving me and Brian, because I've got news for you – you're not a _mind reader_, either! You're a sensitive, compassionate, generous man who fell for a con artist, a charming monster, a persistent psychopath who wouldn't take no for an answer! Now I'm sorry if you feel like you need to be some martyr and carry this burden on your own, but I won't _let_ you, and I know Brian won't, either. So it's all or nothing – either we ALL learn to let go of this terrible burden of guilt or we're all culpable! Which one is it going to be?"

She reached up to cup her son's cheeks as she gazed up into the soft blue eyes shining with unshed tears of pain. "Honey, I know he hurt you. Physically _and _mentally. And you don't know how sorry I am about that. But I love you; and you have a husband who loves you – so much – and who wants to help you so very badly. He's in pain because _you're_ in pain. Please….won't you let us in? Won't you give yourself the same gift of forgiveness that you've given us? Isn't it time to let go of the terrible weight that's on your shoulders and allow yourself the chance for some normalcy again?"

Justin let out a ragged breath as the tears began to trickle down his face unabated now. Jennifer took her thumbs and gently wiped the tears away as she smiled softly at him. "Please, Honey….it's time to forgive yourself. It's time to move away from the horrible pain and let some warmth back in. Can you do that?"

Justin sniffled a little as he stared into her beseeching eyes. He smiled slightly as he shook his head at her. "Maybe you_ should _be my therapist," he told her softly.

She smiled back at him. "Are you saying I'm making some headway here?" she asked hopefully.

He turned one side of his mouth upward. "Maybe," he admitted simply. "But it's still not that easy."

"I know, Justin," she told him solemnly. "I'm sure it's not. But it's time, Honey. It's time to find a way to climb out of that dark hole you're in. You deserve happiness. And so does Brian."

He nodded. "I want that, Mom. And I want that for Brian, too."

She reached up to lightly brush the hair away from his eyes. "Then you keep fighting until you get there. Don't shut Brian out. He needs to support you; he _wants_ to help you. Work through it _together_."

Justin took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm going to try, Mom. I'm going to try."

She nodded. "I know you will. And I know you can do it, Justin. You are such a strong young man. You have been through so much in such a short amount of time and you've managed to persevere every time. You and Brian can get through this; I _know _it. And I promise to let go of my guilt if YOU will. Deal?"

Justin huffed out a shaky breath. "I can't promise anything, except that I'll keep trying….and I'll remember what you said."

She nodded once more before leaning down to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Justin."

He smiled softly at her. "I love you, too."

His mother's words stayed uppermost in his mind hours after she had left. He found himself still not comfortable with venturing outside the loft, but her advice had served somehow to make him feel more at peace with himself.

And for the first time, he found himself downstairs in his studio, gazing at the still unfinished artwork he had begun before all of the horror with Prescott had started. He stood there, staring at the colors, trying to remember how he felt when he had first started it. He remembered how happy he had been. He had been looking forward to his and Brian's first wedding anniversary, and how wonderful being together in their first new home had felt. He remembered how he had been excited about how they would spend that day together, and how mysterious Brian had been about what his gift to him was.

He smiled as he thought about the wonderful surprise Brian had constructed for them up on the roof; even now, even after everything that had happened, that rooftop oasis had been a godsend for him. It had been the only place that gave him any sense of peace, any amount of security during his terrible ordeal. It had given him a chance to be outside without being fearful of anyone harming him. It had been a physical expression of Brian's abiding love for him.

He slowly walked over to the partially-finished canvas and trailed his fingers lightly over the swirling colors. Snaking his tongue out so that just the tip was showing, he licked his lips nervously as he reached over to grasp the edge of the canvas and curl his fingers around it. His heart began to beat faster as he made an effort to take slow, deep, cleansing breaths. He bit his lip in concentration as he studied the work, thoughts of how to continue it slowly seeping into his mind.

Finally, he took hold of the painting and, reaching over to grab some paints and a brush, he held it under his arm as he turned and walked back up the steps toward the second floor.

* * *

_Two Hours Later – 4:30 p.m._

Brian quietly closed the loft door behind him; just like he had done so many times before lately, he instinctively listened for any indication that Justin was around. And once more, he was greeted with an almost eerie silence in reply. "Justin?" he called, receiving no answer. He sighed. This was becoming too common lately. How he wished he could come home just once and hear the familiar, happy sounds his husband normally would be making when he anticipated his arrival. How he wished he could hear some of that obnoxious music that Justin loved, or hear him rattling pots and pans around as he made a total mess of their kitchen in preparation for dinner. Hell, right now he would even take hearing the television blaring some inane animated cartoon that had been watched countless times before; anything that indicated that Justin was puttering around somewhere inside the loft like he normally did.

He was fairly certain after what had happened the other day that Justin was around somewhere; he didn't think he would dare venture outside on his own first, at least not for a while yet. He walked upstairs and hung his suit jacket down on the back of one of the counter stools as he peered around looking for him.

"Justin?" he called out once more as he turned into the bedroom, noticing the bed made and the bathroom door open and unoccupied. That left only one other possible place he could be – the rooftop area that Justin had been using so much lately for his sanctuary.

As he slowly ascended the narrow steps toward the roof, he could hear the soft strains of jazz music filtering downward before he opened the access door to swing it open. As he stepped out into the sun-washed, open area, his heart stopped in his throat as he finally located his husband; he was standing by the gazebo, one slim hand on his hip contemplatively while the other hand held a brush, and he was…_painting_. He stood there in stunned disbelief; almost afraid to move for fear that what he was seeing would be exposed as just a hopeful daydream. "Justin?" he called softly.

His pulse began to pound as Justin turned to face and actually _smiled_. "Brian," he whispered.

Brian couldn't help the returning smile that crept onto his own face…..it was a smile of hope, of love. He walked over to his husband and stared at the now _finished _painting and shook his head in stunned amazement. "I…..I don't believe it. How?"

He drunk in the sight of his husband standing there with a paintbrush in his hand, smudges of deep purple, burgundy, and hunter green paint all over his worn, gray tee shirt and on his knuckles. It was the same shirt he had found Justin wearing the morning after the bombing when he had first asked him to marry him and he had refused. He remembered then how his husband had told him how important it was to create something, _anything_, to show that life went on, that "they" hadn't gotten him. And he remembered telling him how glad he was. He _still _felt that way; no, that wasn't quite true. The feelings were so much deeper now. "How?" he whispered again as he stared at Justin in amazement.

"I had a visit from my mother today," Justin told him as he placed his paintbrush down on some newspaper he had spread out on top of the glass table and turned to face him. "She made me realize something."

Brian stared into the blue eyes that seemed a little more alive somehow. "What?" he asked softly.

Justin stared intently into the face he knew so well, the face that had been so wracked with guilt and pain for the past two weeks. The face of the man he could never live without, and who had been trying so hard to help him move forward, if he would only let him. "She told me about the house, Brian. She told me that she had been the one who had sold it to him unknowingly. And she was trying to blame herself for doing it." He stared into his husband's eyes. "You never mentioned that to me. Why?"

Brian let out a nervous breath. "I'm not really sure," he admitted. "I knew she felt terrible about it, even though she had no way of knowing it was for him. To be honest, with everything else that was going on, it didn't seem like the most important issue." He gazed into the thoughtful blue eyes. "I was much more concerned with your healing."

Justin nodded. "She was carrying around a lot of guilt about it."

Brian replied, "I know she was, even though it wasn't her fault. In fact, she may have saved your life. If she hadn't recognized the house where you were being held, we might never have found you." He pursed his lips together. "I might have lost you for good, Justin."

The blond shook his head. "She made me realize how none of us was to blame for what happened; not her, not you, and not me. No one is responsible for what happened except him. _Prescott_. She told me I can't blame myself anymore than I can't blame you or her – and I don't, Brian. You have to know that – I _don't_ blame you. Do you hear me?"

Brian couldn't believe his ears. He realized this was what he had been waiting to hear for the past two weeks, what he _needed_ to hear. The guilt they had all been carrying around on their shoulders had been so counterproductive, so useless…..so destructive. He bit his lip as he gazed into the steadfast eyes of the man he loved and slowly felt some of the pain, the awesome weight, easing from his heart. "Yeah…..I hear you."

Justin walked over to Brian to stand next to him; he wanted to grasp his upper arms but hesitated because of the paint on his hands. Even without touching him, however, their connection was palpable. "But do you believe me this time? I'm going to ask you the same thing that my mother asked me – can you let it go, Brian? Can you let go of the guilt like I'm trying to do? Because I'm NOT going to let him beat us, Brian. I _won't_." He gazed over at the completed painting. "This is my beginning; my attempt to do that." He knew he had a ways to go – they both did – but just looking at the finished painting that he thought he might never accomplish filled him with hope and with a feeling of triumph over what that monster had tried to do to him. _I'm not going to give you that satisfaction, Prescott. And neither will Brian….._

"Brian?" He gently shook his husband's arms to get his attention as the brunet gazed down at him silently. "Can you?" he pressed.

Brian stared into the determined blue eyes. Up until that moment, he wasn't quite sure he had realized just how much of a hold the guilt he had been carrying around had threatened to consume his life – _both _their lives; now, however, as he looked into his husband's eyes that seemed to have regained some of their fire, he felt some of the pain ebbing away, at least slightly. He knew neither he nor Justin could just shrug it off like some coat that was a size too big, or some pesky fly, but he also knew if Justin could push beyond what he had endured, then he owed him the same effort. "I'll try," he whispered. "That's all I can promise."

Justin nodded, satisfied. He knew their situation wasn't black and white; he knew his mother's visit hadn't righted everything like some magic potion. It still didn't guarantee that he wouldn't freeze up the next time he and Brian tried to make love, for instance, which caused him an untold amount of frustration and heartache. It still didn't ensure that he wouldn't walk outside the loft and suddenly choke up with insecurity and fear. It still didn't negate the need for them to see Dr. Anderson, because he knew there were a lot of unspoken feelings and emotions that still needed to be addressed. But it was a dramatic leap forward in his mind, and that was a big step.

He reached out his hand, longing to touch Brian but worried, perhaps absurdly, about ruining one of Brian's expensive shirts. Brian solved his dilemma by reaching out to grasp the paint-stained hand and hold it firmly as he brought both of their hands up to cradle them against his face and smiled tenderly. Justin sighed at the feeling of Brian's warm skin beneath his palm, so reassuring and familiar.

"Good," Justin told him. "That's all I can ask for now." He slowly leaned up, Brian instinctively knowing what he craved, as their lips met halfway and came together for a slow, soft kiss; their linked hands dropped to the side of their bodies, still intertwined firmly together.

Brian didn't push, didn't demand. As always, though, the kiss created a slow burn of desire within him, like it always did when his lips met Justin's, a longing for what used to be. As his lips lightly brushed over his husband's and he heard Justin sigh softly in response, though, the hope that soon they would be able to make love again ignited just a little further in a more optimistic whisper of promise.

He reluctantly pulled back several seconds later with a tender wisp of smile. "I need to go change, and then we can find something for dinner, okay?" he suggested softly.

Justin nodded. "I need to go clean up anyway," he said. "I'll be right down." Brian gave his hand one more squeeze before letting it go. He gave Justin's completed painting one last glance, perhaps to reassure himself that he hadn't dreamed it up, before turning and quietly walking over to the doorway to descend down into their living quarters.

As he reached the floor below, he couldn't help pausing on the landing to digest what had just happened. He tried hard not to make too much of the fact that Justin had not only picked up a paintbrush again, but he had _finished_ the painting. He had even managed somehow to repair the small tear that he had seen there before. And his _smile_; it hadn't been the smile he longed to see, but it was still a smile nonetheless. And there was something different in the eyes; the beginning remnants of a sparkle there, of firm resolve. He couldn't help smiling a little himself as he turned and walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom to change out of his business clothes.

Doffing his constrictive attire, he turned and walked into the bathroom to turn the shower on and, after making sure the water was hot enough, stepped inside to let the stream run down his body, helping to not only soothe his tense muscles but also calm his restless spirit as he reached over to grab the milled bar of soap and began to slide it over his shoulders and chest, creating a luxurious lather as soapy rivulets ran down his chest and legs to pool on the marbled floor below.

As he stood there for several seconds, his eyes closed as he relished in the relaxing sensation, his pulse sped up suddenly as he heard the heavy, glass shower door being opened behind him. Not wanting to spook his husband, he kept his back to him, trying desperately not to appear too overeager, too impatient. His heart began to pound, however, as he felt two slender hands slide around his waist from behind and his husband's achingly-familiar, naked body press up against his back. "Justin," he whispered almost painfully; he couldn't help the soft groan that escaped his lips at the sensations coursing through him as the pale hands slowly began to caress his stomach and chest. "God," he cried out as he felt a pair of lips nuzzling his shoulder in response.

Slowly with great care he turned around in his husband's embrace to see a pair of blue eyes staring up at him silently. He licked his lips nervously, unsure what to do or say. Justin gave him a soft smile as he reached over to take the bar of soap from his hand and began to slide it lovingly over Brian's shoulders, collarbone and chest.

Brian sucked in a sharp intake of breath as Justin slid the soap over first one nipple and then the other, lingering over each one longer than necessary before traveling over to his breastbone and then slowly creeping lower toward his belly. As they stared into each other's eyes, Justin leaned into the arms that slowly snaked around him to pull him more firmly against the taller frame as their lips once more came together for a kiss. Just like before, Brian's touch was tenuous, questioning, undemanding.

As Justin's tongue came out to lightly sweep against his lips, however, he let out a moan and quickly opened his mouth to welcome the sweet invasion as the kiss quickly deepened into something much more insistent. He heard the bar of soap hitting the floor as both men's hand began to roam wherever they could reach, over backs, shoulders, buttocks, arms, necks.

Brian's cock was hardening by the second the longer he held Justin in his arms and the longer they kissed; he felt a thrill run through his veins as he felt the same reaction in the slender body he was holding so tightly against his own. With great reluctance, he pulled back far enough to stare into the blue eyes he knew so well and was surprised but also elated to see them darkened with desire – desire for _him_. "Justin…We need to stop," he breathlessly stated, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. After the headway they had made earlier, though, he didn't want their progress to be dashed once more when Justin had to pull back from his overtures.

To his surprise, however, Justin firmly shook his head.

"No," he whispered softly. "I can do this." It wasn't their bedroom, but perhaps that was the point. The bed was where Prescott had violated him and had dominated him against his will; the shower was safer. It was the one place where he and Brian had made love countless times before and the one place where that monster hadn't touched him. Somehow that gave him the confidence that he could do this – he _wanted _to do this. "Please," he begged as he stared into Brian's dark greenish-gold eyes. "Touch me."

Brian's breath caught in his throat. "Are…..are you sure?" he asked tentatively, trying hard to keep the hope and downright lust from his voice, but his desire for Justin was so strong he was finding it almost impossible to accomplish.

In response, Justin brought his right hand around to clasp Brian's and bring it down to his achingly-hard cock. He closed his eyes and sighed as Brian couldn't help curling his hand possessively around it and letting out another moan of desire at the sensation. "Please…."

It was one word, one whisper, but it meant everything to Brian. "You tell me if I need to stop," he said softly as Justin nodded; his eyes still closed as if he were trying to concentrate on Brian's voice and the touch of his husband's familiar, skillful hands.

Brian reached down to kiss the full, pink lips reassuringly and then softly began a trail with his mouth to nuzzle Justin's neck and shoulders before he placed his hands on his shoulders and gently turned him around in his arms. He slide his hands around his chest and slowly stroked the slippery skin, lingering lightly over Justin's nipples to softly rub around the pebbled nubs until he heard Justin sigh in pleasure. Encouraged by his husband's reaction so far but knowing he still needed to go slow, he again reached down to kiss Justin's collarbone before he whispered in his ear, "I love you so much." He heard Justin sigh in response. "You sure you want this?" he repeated, holding his breath, knowing he didn't want to stop but also being more than willing to if it was what Justin needed. His heart soared, though, as Justin nodded as he whispered back, "Keep going."

Brian slowly walked them a few inches until they were flush with the opposite wall of the shower. He moved one hand down to Justin's waist reassuringly as he reached over to retrieve a small tube of lube lying on one of the soap dishes built into the wall. He listened intently for any signs of distress from his husband as he flipped the top open with his thumb, but he was encouraged when he noted no obvious reluctance from him.

The sound of the running water was the only noise heard for the next few seconds as both men waited anxiously for the next step; this would probably be the most difficult of all, because for the first time since Prescott had re-invaded their lives, Brian would be touching Justin in a way that was possessive and intensely personal.

He removed his other hand from Justin long enough to squirt some of the clear gel onto his fingers before placing the tube back in the tray and sliding his free hand back around Justin's waist reassuringly. He watched with slowly-rising elation as Justin placed one of his hands over Brian's in silent encouragement for him to proceed.

Slowly, he reached down first to lightly trail a ghostly, feathery touch over Justin's buttocks, closing his own eyes momentarily at the wondrous softness and curve he treasured. He had always loved this part of Justin's body from the beginning – he loved every part of his body – but his ass cheeks were always so soft, so inviting, so _Justin_. As his hand slowly began to venture toward the crease in between the two inviting globes, he again placed a kiss on Justin's neck to reassure him as Justin nodded in silent encouragement and sighed once more.

Brian lightly rubbed circles over Justin's belly as he slowly ran his middle finger down the crease and found the wrinkled, puckered opening he was seeking. He was almost afraid to say too much out loud, afraid once more that it would set off another type of horrific nightmare for Justin so he chose to show his husband how much he loved him with every kiss, every touch, every breath as his finger slowly circled the perfectly round, wrinkled hole. His probing was tentative at first, almost shy, until he felt the almost imperceptible pushing back in response. "Brian…." was the whispered reply. "More."

Brian couldn't help the feeling of burgeoning hope that sprang inside him as he slowly pushed his finger in a little deeper and heard Justin moan as he placed his hand over Brian's lying against his stomach. He slid the finger in deeper, softly turning it upward as his index finger joined it. Slowly, progressively, he pushed just a little more until….

The louder moan from Justin was like the sweetest song he ever heard; he could tell it wasn't a sign of hurt or fear. It wasn't a sound made from pain or torment. It was the familiar, long-awaited echo of desire, of pleasure he was providing, and it made his own heart reverberate in time with it.

Justin's heart began to pound; but to his jubilation, it wasn't from terror or fear, it was from excitement and anticipation. "Yes," he hissed out in joy. "Brian…..I need you…"

Brian knew he should take it slower, should prepare Justin more. It had been long enough that he knew Justin would be even tighter then he normally was. But at the sound of Justin saying his voice, he also knew he could no longer wait. He gently pulled his fingers out, hearing a hiss of protest, before he quickly rubbed some of the residual lube on his steel-hard, aching cock and positioned him to enter the hot channel of the man he could never envision living without. "I love you," he whispered as he pulled Justin more strongly against his back to broadcast his desire for him. He pushed just the tip of his cock inside, waiting anxiously for his husband's reaction. "Justin?" he whispered tentatively, almost like a schoolboy about to fuck for the first time in the back of the high school stadium.

"Fuck me, Brian," Justin softly entreated as he finally opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze into the loving eyes of his husband, partly to reassure himself that this was the man he adored that he was about to join with and partly to erase any last signs of the horrible monster who had been there before. The two kissed softly before Justin reached over and placed his free hand against the shower wall to brace himself. He felt Brian nuzzle his neck one more time before he felt him pushing in a little farther.

He waited in trepidation for his heartbeat to pound with the expected terror and dread like before, but instead he felt nothing but pure pleasure and anticipation washing over him. His heart sang with jubilation as he felt himself actually pushing back into Brian for more and he felt Brian kiss his neck again in response before the brunet dove back in even further, encouraged by his reaction.

"Feels so good, Justin…." Brian couldn't help murmuring as he pulled out and then pushed back again once more, feeling Justin arching back toward him in a request for him to go even deeper. "So good….so fucking good." And it did – it felt hotter, wetter, tighter than he had ever remembered. It felt wonderful, it felt indescribable. It felt like _heaven_ as his speed picked up, and against his earnest intention to go slow, he found he just couldn't do it as Justin kept pushing back against him and his thrusts sped up in an almost frantic pace, his own moans of exquisite bliss only rivaled by Justin's.

He soon knew he was about to come in an explosive reaction – he could feel his entire body shaking with an almost violent need for culmination – but he desperately wanted to ensure Justin was taken care of first. In his high state of euphoria, he almost blindly reached down to find Justin's own steel-hard cock and began to fist and pump it furiously in time with his own rapid, deep thrusts; he could hear Justin's groans echoing loudly off the glass and he could feel the throbbing member under his touch and the trembling body of his husband as both of them began to grunt, groan and moan as their desire mounted and their climaxes loomed.

Moments later with a loud cry that would have awakened all of Pittsburgh if not for the privacy and thick-walled insulation of their warehouse loft, he came with the most wondrous orgasm he had ever experienced as he heard Justin cry out with a voice that rivaled his own in volume.

The now-lukewarm temperature of the shower's water didn't faze either man as they both collapsed against the shower wall, emotionally as well as physically spent by their successful coupling. Brian kept one hand around Justin's chest for support as his breath came out in heavy pants; he could feel his husband's heart beating rapidly under his palm as he tried to slow his own breathing down to a more normal level.

Finally after about a minute, he slowly pulled Justin back up to cradle him against his own still-shaking body and took a deep breath before gently turning his husband around to look at him. He was so afraid that he would see anguish written on his face or regret. But to his delight, there was nothing there but a relieved smile and love. He reached over to turn off the water before taking his free hand and tenderly pushing the wet hair away that was plastered to Justin's forehead and smiling down at him in amazement. "Justin…." He shook his head almost in disbelief as the blue eyes sparkled back at him in return. _"You_ did it," he murmured almost proudly.

Justin's eyes brightened with tears, but this time they were tears of triumph and joy as he nodded. "Yes," he whispered back. "Yes….._we_ did it."

Brian cupped his hands around Justin's face. "How do you feel?" he asked softly, his eyes searching for any sign of distress, but to his relief he saw none. "Are you okay?"

Justin actually beamed in pleasure at his – _their – _accomplishment. "I feel..." He struggled for just the right words. He didn't feel a hundred percent whole, but for the first time since Prescott had invaded their lives he actually felt confident that one day he would. "I feel…..good. I feel….…..I feel almost normal again. I feel _lucky_, Brian," he whispered as Brian gazed at him, puzzled, until he explained, "I feel so lucky to have _you_." Brian nodded at him in understanding as Justin smiled up at him tenderly and added with a heartfelt whisper, "and…..I love you – always."


	25. How Do You Forgive Yourself?

_A/N: This chapter's for you, Gloria - thanks for the ideas and for the support. And thanks to all my faithful readers and reviewers - I appreciate that more than you probably know!:) The boys still have a ways to go, but they're slowly getting there..._

* * *

Brian glanced over at the sleek, platinum-colored alarm clock on the bed's side table, noting it was 3:00 a.m.; even now after all these years, that particular time still held a special, unspoken meaning for the two of them and he always found himself automatically waking up around that time each night in some silent ritual to make sure Justin was where he should be - here with him.

As he lay there on his side, he knew he should be trying to catch some sleep, but he found that the thought gears in his mind were still too busy whirling around to even envision the thought; perhaps it had to do, also, with the man he was currently holding in his arms. Justin was lying on his side, facing him with his hands lying on his chest, right over his heart. Somehow to Brian that seemed like the perfect place for them, because his heart was threatening to overflow from what had happened tonight; even now it was beating rapidly as he recalled their lovemaking in the shower earlier.

He still couldn't quite believe the events that had occurred; not only had he arrived home to find that Justin had – finally – started painting once more, but later they had actually been able to make love again. For a long time, he had worried that it would never happen, that somehow what Prescott had done would tarnish their love and not make their eventual union as passionate or as sweet. He was so relieved to discover he had been wrong; even though it had not been here in their bed, and even though it almost seemed to be over before it begun, it had been just as wonderful than before, even more so because of how hard it had been to accomplish.

He felt his husband stir slightly in his arms and held his breath, hoping this wasn't going to be the start of another nightmare; instead, to his great relief, he heard a soft sigh escape the familiar pink lips as the blond snuggled deeper into his embrace before he finally settled back down to lie still once more. He closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding, relishing the feel of Justin in his arms.

He wasn't so naive to think all their issues would magically disappear because of what had happened earlier tonight, but it was definitely a start in the right direction. He hoped that Justin wouldn't balk at returning to therapy tomorrow; they still had a lot of problems to address with Dr. Anderson. For now, though, as he listened to his husband's slow, steady, untroubled breathing, he was comforted by the sound. A couple of minutes later, he rested his chin on top of Justin's soft head of hair and slowly drifted off at last to sleep.

_Next Morning_

The beeping of the alarm clock slowly roused Brian out of a sound sleep as he reached over almost blindly to slam his hand down on the top of it to hit the snooze button. His eyes slowly fluttered open and he turned his head to note the time: 8:30. He and Justin were due at their next counseling session at 10:00, so he knew he couldn't remain in bed much longer if they were to get there on time.

He twisted his head the other way to note his husband wasn't lying beside him; sometime during the night, Justin must have managed to disentangle himself from Brian's embrace. The loft sounded overly still; once more, Justin was not making any discernible sounds.

Brian sighed; where was he _this_ time? Lately he felt like all they ever did was play hide and seek, and he was always the seeker.

He slowly rose from the bed and slipped on his silk robe, tying it around his chest before plodding barefooted out into the main living area of their quarters. He noticed the coffeemaker was on and was about three-quarters full. There was an empty mug and a spoon lying beside it, next to a medium-sized post-it note on the counter.

He walked over to the note and picked it up, immediately recognizing the familiar scrawl of his husband's writing. _Grab a cup and meet me upstairs. J. _Brian smiled, relieved that at least he knew where his elusive husband was at the moment. He was so thankful that he had decided to remodel the upstairs for Justin's anniversary present; it had been a life preserver for both of them through his horrible ordeal and seemed to be the only real place that Justin could turn to lately to feel secure.

He poured himself a cup and heaped a couple spoonfuls of sugar into the mug before walking over to the narrow stairway and walking up to the rooftop access.

The morning was warmer than usual and the sun was just peeking over the side of the rooftop. His attention, though, was focused on his husband who was standing with his back to him, staring down at the traffic below; he was wearing one of his loose-fitting pairs of chinos and his own mug of coffee was temporarily forgotten as it lay on top of the glass table under the gazebo. Observing what was going on below seemed to hold a particular fascination with Justin lately; Brian didn't know if it was because he enjoyed watching the comings and goings of their neighborhood with a relative feeling of confidence that he could not be harmed, or if he was longing to join them himself, but was still too afraid to try.

He quietly crept up behind Justin and placed his own mug down next to the other one; the porcelain container made a slight clinking noise against the glass surface of the coffee table. He saw Justin's head turn slightly to make sure who was there before he turned back to stare out onto the street below.

Brian walked up from behind and slid his arms around Justin's chest as he nuzzled the pale flesh of his husband's neck before kissing it softly. "Hey," he whispered against his cheek. "You okay?" Last night had been such a breakthrough for them, and he was fervently hoping that Justin agreed. Was he regretting their making love in the shower last night? Surely not – to Brian, it had been one of the best moments of their lives together because it spoke of their hope for the future and their wish to put the horrible past involving Prescott behind them.

Brian allowed Justin to turn around in his arms and half-expected to see tears in Justin's eyes as he often did lately; he was exhilarated to find instead that Justin was smiling at him wistfully. It wasn't a full-blown, trademark smile, but at least his face wasn't wearing the cloak of hopelessness and anguish it normally did lately. Justin nodded. "Yeah….I mean, I feel better than I have in a long while, Brian. Not whole exactly…..but better."

Brian reached one hand up to lightly stroke the soft skin of Justin's cheek. "I'm so fucking glad to hear that," he murmured. "I came looking for you to make sure you remembered our session this morning. We have about an hour before we leave. Are you ready for it?"

Justin stared into Brian's eyes thoughtfully for a few seconds before he nodded. "I guess as ready as I'll ever be," he said softly. "You know I really don't look forward to talking to him about all this, Brian. Sometimes I think it just serves to dredge up awful memories of what happened and I question whether it's worth it or not."

Before Brian could interject his own opinion, though, he continued. "But you know….after what we were able to do last night, I realize that it IS worth it, Brian." He looked almost embarrassed as he recalled the emotions that their lovemaking had engendered in him as he whispered, "Last night meant so much to me. Do you know how fucking scared I was that we might never be able to be close like that again?"

Brian slowly stroked Justin's cheek as he stared into the expressive sapphire eyes. "Yeah….I know exactly what it meant, Justin, because I was feeling the same thing." One corner of his mouth rose as he gazed down at Justin tenderly. "Last night in the shower was worth a thousand fucks before that to me."

Justin reached up to place his hand over Brian's and answer softly, "Me, too." Almost of one accord, the two heads met halfway for a brief, emotion-filled kiss that hinted of a promise to come before Justin broke it off to lean back slightly to stare into Brian's eyes. "You know what my goal is, though?"

Any other time, Brian would have made some sort of witty retort, but he knew somehow that wasn't what Justin was looking for, and truthfully, neither was he. "What, Sunshine?" he asked simply instead, his arms lightly resting on top of Justin's shoulders.

Justin whispered, "I want us to make love in our bed – without me thinking of _him_ instead. And what he did to me – what he did to _us_."

Brian leaned in until their foreheads were touching; he lightly feathered the soft hair at the back of Justin's head as he breathed in Justin's unique scent. "Me, too," he said softly. And we will – I know it."

_Ninety Minutes Later_

Mark Anderson watched closely as the two men walked into his office for their third session of the week. As was his custom, he made a silent observation of their body language as he greeted them politely and motioned for them to sit down on the couch. He knew their last session had not gone smoothly; Brian emotions had flared over Justin's description of Prescott's nickname for him – _Angel_ – and the pain the man had inflicted on both of them during his relentless, dogged pursuit of Justin had been quite evident in the heated exchange that had ensued afterward. Both men had left upset, agitated, and confused over how to proceed.

Today, however, as they walked in and sat down, he watched as once again Brian almost subconsciously reached over to grasp Justin's hand as they linked their fingers together. He didn't miss the tender glance that passed between them, though, as he did so; apparently something had changed since their last session the other day. After a few seconds, the two men remembered there was someone else in the room and both turned to look at him expectantly.

Anderson smiled at them politely, deciding it was time to get started. "Gentlemen….You seem different than the other day – more relaxed, I guess would be the right word I'm looking for. Let's just say you didn't exactly leave on the best of terms the other day. Has something changed since then?"

He noticed what appeared to be a tinge of pink appearing on Justin's cheeks in response to his query. "Justin?" he asked curiously, peering above his glasses he had perched low on the bridge of his nose. He swore he could actually see just the hint of a smile on the younger man's face as he waited for an answer.

"We…Brian and I…We were able to, um, in the shower," was the almost unintelligible reply.

Mark's eyebrows rose as he tried to infer what he assumed Justin was trying to say; he quickly found, however, that there wasn't any need for clarification as Brian spoke up.

"We fucked," Brian said succinctly, almost proudly, as Justin covered his face with his free hand in embarrassment. "And it was fantastic," he added with a smile as he curled his lips under. Anderson watched as the brunet reached over and gently removed Justin's hand from his face. "It was fantastic," he whispered once more as Justin looked into his eyes with his own blue orbs that were suddenly shining with unshed tears over Brian's quiet, heartfelt statement.

"You're not just talking about Justin giving you another blowjob….are you?" Mark asked. He knew Justin had been able to provide pleasure to his husband the other day, but he also knew Justin continued to be quite upset over the fact that he and his partner had been unable to make love together; he could tell just from the relatively short time the two men had been coming to counseling that this was an extremely important part of their lives. If they had, indeed, been able to consummate their sexual relationship completely after Justin's inability to do so, it was a huge step in the right direction for them.

"No," Justin confirmed for both of them, finding comfort in Brian's touch and the feeling of, yes, _joy_, in his husband's voice over what they had been able to accomplish last night. "We made love in the shower last night," he verified for the doctor. "And Brian was right – it _was _fantastic." He smiled over at Brian warmly at the recollection of what a wondrous feeling that had been – it had made him feel powerful, triumphant, and vindicated all at once.

Not for the first time, Anderson silently wished that he could experience even once the love that poured forth from these two men, despite the troubles they had had to endure for the past several months. The depth of emotion between them was almost palpable, and he surprisingly found himself envious of what they still had, despite what they had experienced. "That's quite a big step for you two," he commented. "And it's a definite step toward normalcy for you. Being able to be intimate again is critical in a relationship after a sexual assault." He eyed the two men closely; both seemed pleased with their accomplishment, but as a trained professional, Anderson had learned to look behind the façade.

"You mentioned you made love in the shower last night, Justin," he said, noticing his patient nod in confirmation. "What precipitated it? I mean, what do you think was different that allowed you to be intimate with Brian again for the first time since the rape? " He noticed Justin's look of happiness cloud over somewhat at the mention of the distasteful word, but he was never one to gloss over what the situation was. It wasn't an 'unfortunate encounter.' It wasn't a 'temporary setback.' It was more than a 'non-consensual contact.' It was a _rape_, pure and simple, and to heal he knew the two men facing him had to acknowledge it openly as such.

Brian looked at Justin a little anxiously, almost feeling him tense up at the query. He squeezed the blond's hand a little tighter as Justin glanced over at him before explaining. "My mom came to visit me and we had a long talk."

"About what?" the doctor asked quietly.

"About….guilt."

"Guilt? Whose guilt, Justin?"

Justin glanced over at Brian, who was noticeably quiet. He knew the subject was a touchy one with his husband, even if his guilt was misplaced. "Well….mine, Brian's, _and_ my mother's."

"Why your mother? What could she possibly be guilty about?" Justin's mother was the last person he had expected his patient to mention.

"My mom's a real estate agent, and it winds up that she was the one who sold the house to Prescott. Isn't that the most fucking ironic thing you've ever heard?" he said with a sardonic snort. "My own mother sold a house to a maniac who wound up imprisoning both Brian and me."

"Wow," Anderson couldn't help exclaiming softly; he noticed Brian looking noticeably uncomfortable as he asked, "Did she know who the buyer was at the time?"

"No, of course not!" Justin shook his head firmly. "She had no idea – it was sold to some LLC. That's why I told her she couldn't possibly feel guilty about what happened. She couldn't have known. In fact, she helped find the house based on Brian's description of the interior. In a way, she probably helped save my life…..along with Brian," he added as he looked over gratefully at his husband, who actually looked away from his stare. Anderson noted the hurt look on Justin's face as Brian averted his gaze.

Anderson didn't miss the brunet's reaction; he suspected there was still a lot of pent-up guilt to go around for _all_ parties. "You said the two of you discussed guilt, not only from your mother's standpoint but Brian and you as well." The doctor decided to address Brian directly in an attempt to redirect him back into the conversation; yes, Justin had been the actual victim, but his husband was just as deeply entrenched in what had happened, too, and it was _joint _counseling. He didn't want either man to lose sight of that fact. When there were two partners as close as these two seemed to be, rape never involved just _one_ victim.

"Brian? Justin mentioned your feelings of guilt. He doesn't think that's a fair assessment. What do you feel guilty about?"

Brian huffed, incredulous. "You're shitting me, right?" he growled. "You want me to make you a fucking list, Doc?"

"Brian," Justin murmured in embarrassment at his brusqueness. "Please….." He gave Brian's hand a squeeze now, but Brian pulled away from his grasp.

"Let's start from the beginning, okay Doc?" Brian announced angrily, his eyes flashing with both pain and regret as he faced down the man staring back at him. "Let me spell them out for you. First, I couldn't commit to Justin and he felt compelled to leave in search of a stable relationship. Then, when that fucker showed up at the benefit, I did nothing to prevent him from meeting with him, which eventually led to the man developing an ongoing obsession with him for the past couple years, which made Justin's life a living hell, including drugging him and kidnapping him. How's that for a start?"

"Brian…" Justin reached over to gently but firmly grab Brian's wrist to get him to stop, but it was like a dam had broken as Brian pulled his arm away without missing a beat.

"…And then my attempts at security to keep Justin safe went south when the fucker found someone who could impersonate my assistant and provide the security firm with the cancellation code – after he had managed to wiretap my phone. Oh, and let's not forget Matheson, the employee who worked for me and managed to set me up with one of Prescott's goons for lunch so I could conveniently be drugged and used as bait for Justin to be lured right into the fucker's trap." He shook his head angrily. "And you want to know why I've been feeling guilty?" He let out a shaky breath. "Is that enough for you, Doc? I can go on if you like…."

"Brian, that's enough!" Justin growled abruptly, his eyes flashing with frustration; how did such good news suddenly turn into a guilt-laden trip once more? "Stop it! We have been down this road so many times before! Shit! If there's any blame to go around, we _both _own a piece of it!"

Brian looked at his partner incredulous. "What the fuck, Justin? How could _you_ be guilty of anything? The man _raped_ you! He stalked you for two years! He wouldn't leave you alone! What part of that do you deserve blame for?"

Justin sighed heavily. Hadn't they hashed this over and over before? "Doctor," he said, directing his question to the other man, "I came in here actually feeling good about what happened last night, and now thanks to you I feel like shit again. Why do we have to go over this again and again?"

"Justin….Why do you think you and Brian made love in the shower?"

"What the…?" Justin said, shaking his head in aggravation. "What do you mean, why did we? We _love_ each other! We've wanted to be…be _close_ again ever since this happened!"

"No, that's not what I mean, Justin. What I mean is, why the shower? Why not in bed?"

Justin looked at him awkwardly as he almost mumbled. "That's just where it happened."

"The two of you went to bed together afterward? You slept in the same bed?"

"Doc, where are you going with this line of questioning?" Brian snarled like some protective lion guarding his cub. "Of _course_ we slept in the same bed! We've BEEN sleeping in the same bed ever since we got back!"

"That's my point, Brian," Dr. Anderson stated. "You told me the other day that the two of you are used to being intimate what, 3, 4 times a day? Correct?"

"Yes, that's what we said," Brian told him, his voice clipped and curt. "So?"

"So if the two of you made love in the shower, why not the bed later? You are healed physically now, correct Justin?"

"Yes," the blond answered hesitatingly, suddenly not very pleased with the direction their conversation was heading.

"So normally it wouldn't be unusual for the two of you to continue your activities afterward?" He eyed both men, noticing that Justin was becoming very agitated; it was easy to tell from his body language. He hands were clenched together and gripping his upper legs tightly as he sat forward on the edge of the couch and his lips were pursed tightly together.

"I guess so," Justin answered uncomfortably.

"So why didn't you?" the doctor probed, realizing he was about to hit a sore spot.

"Maybe because he's just gotten over his injury?" Brian said sarcastically, resenting the line of questioning the doctor was insisting on continuing. "What is your fucking point? The point is we DID – what difference does it make where we fucked?"

"Justin? If Brian wanted to make love with you in your bed, would you be able to do it now?"

Brian's patience was about to wear out; as he looked over at Justin, however, he noticed he was on the verge of tears and his heart dropped. His husband really didn't have to say a word – the answer was written all over his face. "Justin?" he whispered to him.

Justin hung his head and didn't answer for a few seconds. Finally, his voice barely above a whisper, he responded with a single word. "No."

"Do you know why?"

Justin turned his head to stare over at the bookshelves; somehow not looking at Brian made it just a little easier to answer. "Because…..because every time I'm in bed and I think about me and Brian making love…..I think of _him_."

Brian closed his eyes as the pain washed over him. Were they destined to have this problem forever? Yes, they had been able to finally make love last night, and for what it was, it was glorious. It felt so good to be reunited again, their bodies in harmony together. They always instinctively knew how to please each other, to bring each other to euphoric heights and express their deep love for each other without saying a word. But he still missed their times in bed, where they could touch, fuck, suck, lick, and kiss all night long. Where he could go to bed with Justin cradled in his arms and wake up to the same thing. God, he missed that so much. He was selfish – he wanted _more_. He wanted all of Justin back.

Justin's eyes threatened to overfill with his tears. "I'm so sorry, Brian," he whispered to his husband. "I'm so sorry."

"Justin….don't. God, please don't do that," Brian beseeched him, reaching over to put his arm around his shoulders and pull him close. "Don't you dare go blaming yourself for this."

But it was too late; days of 'what if's welled inside of him as he whispered, "I should have been stronger, Brian. I should have fought back. I could have done something to prevent all of this."

Anderson observed the exchange between his two patients; it seemed the guilt-laden emotions were not yet vanquished after all, not that he had realistically expected them to be. "Why do you say that, Justin? You were the _victim_ here. What do you think you could have done?"

"I could have resisted him."

The words were out of Brian's mouth before he could stop them; all along Brian had assumed he _had_. "Why didn't you?" He asked, stunned by the revelation.

He shook Justin's shoulders slightly when there was no reply. "Justin? Tell me – what did he _do_ to you? He threatened you with that gun, didn't he?" It could be the only logical explanation – his normally feisty, fiery, passionate husband would never just lie there and permit another man to rape him willingly; he would have fought with every bone in his body instead.

"Brian….." This was the last thing Justin wanted to tell him because he knew the river of guilt would begin to flow once more. "Please…."

"Justin….I have to know," Brian insisted. If it _was_ due to threat of bodily harm, which would be understandable coming from that monster, why was Justin hesitating so much?

"Justin, I want to make it clear that you are no way to blame for what happened. But I think it's important you answer Brian's question," Anderson softly pressed him from his chair. "Why didn't you feel like you could resist?"

Justin shrugged out of Brian's embrace and stood up, suddenly feeling like the walls were closing in and he was about to choke. He roughly brushed one hand through his hair as he walked a few feet away, trying to escape what he knew had to be his husband's green eyes boring into his back.

Brian's mind was whirling with frantic possibilities, none of which were good. Just what sort of hold had that fucker had over Justin to make him so compliant to his demands? He wasn't worried about the depth of Justin's love and devotion to him – he was sure of that. Just what had Prescott done to keep him from struggling against his demands? Just the thought once more of what that man had done to his husband made his blood boil with rage. _Just one hour with you, Prescott. That's all I want. Just one fucking hour, and Hell would seem like paradise to you…._

"Justin?" Mark called out softly; he could see Brian barely being able to contain himself as they waited for the blond to reply. He could tell this line of questioning was upsetting both men terribly, but he _also_ knew it was a necessary part of the healing process.

After several seconds of silence, Justin finally turned around to face Brian. He knew this was going to hurt his husband, but he also knew he had to be honest with him. "When I was being held at that mansion, I didn't if you were dead or alive or hurt somewhere. Prescott kept reminding me that one of his men still had you under guard."

"But, Justin….." Brian had never been in real danger once he had been released by the side of the road, but he realized now that his husband had had no way of knowing that at the time...

The blond held up his hand, knowing if Brian said something right now he wouldn't be able to finish what he had to say. He bit his lip to try and keep his tears from falling; he didn't want to break down in front of Brian and make it worse than it was already going to be. "He…..he threatened to hurt – or kill you – if I didn't do what he wanted."

"That son of a bitch!" Brian snarled as he rose to his feet in fury. "That rotten, fucking _son of a BITCH!_" It made perfect sense; it was the only explanation for why Justin would submit to something so humiliating willingly; he wasn't doing it out of fear for his own safety. He was doing it out of fear over HIM. He wanted desperately to pound the living shit out of Prescott, to make him suffer excruciating pain, to rip every tooth from his mealy-mouthed smile, to inflict torture on him forever. But that chance had been blown away at the end of Matthews' gun. That chance for retribution had been irrevocably lost. Now all that was left was to somehow deal with Justin's residual pain and his own guilt, which was flaring up even worse than before.

He glanced over at Justin, where a river of tears was freely flowing down his beautiful face. How could anyone have caused so much misery to someone so undeserving? And the fact that Prescott had used his love for him as a weapon made him want to break somebody – some_thing_ – in response. Without thinking, he turned to pick up a framed picture of Dr. Anderson propped up on the nearby side table and he flung it violently across the room; Justin jumped as it shattered into a million tiny pieces, much like how Brian's heart felt at the moment over his not being able to prevent Justin's rape.

He immediately regretted his action as he watched Justin cringe in response; he quickly walked over and prayed that his overtures at comforting his husband wouldn't be rebuffed. "Justin…." he murmured softly as he held his arms out and swept him into his embrace. "Justin…..God. I'm so sorry…..so sorry," he continued in a mournful mantra. Yeah, sorry was bullshit, he used to say. But not now…..not this time…..

Justin slid his arms around Brian's back. "Shh," he whispered soothingly as his hands lightly caressed the strong, muscular skin. "Don't, Brian, please don't. It doesn't matter now – we're together. And we're going to _stay_ together." Both of them knew they were always stronger together than apart, just like two halves of a whole.

Dr. Anderson watched their interaction intently; he knew merely being able to consummate their love physically again was a good step in the right direction, and every day he observed them together the strong connection between them was further reinforced. Clearly, these two loved each other deeply and neither blamed each other for what had happened. But his main focus was definitely going to be how to get each of them to forgive _themselves_ and move on. "Brian, Justin?" he called quietly, not wanting to interrupt their conversation but regretfully realizing his next patient was due to arrive soon. "I'm sorry, but we will have to resume this at our next session on Monday."

The two men pulled back to gaze into each other's faces; both were unwilling to completely sever their physical bond just yet. "Brian?" Justin whispered, trying to smile tenderly at his husband through his tears. It had felt cathartic in a way to tell Brian what sort of hold Prescott had had over him, but at the same time, he knew Brian was experiencing renewed feelings of guilt that would have to be dealt with. "You know I don't blame you – don't you?"

Brian stared into the red, blotchy face, still beautiful – always beautiful – to him. "Yes," he whispered back. "But _I_ still do."

Justin shook his head slightly as if to tell Brian how crazy that was. He knew he couldn't just assuage his guilt that easily, though; he knew it would take time. But if it took the rest of their lives, he would do it. This man was worth it to him – he was his life. "Well, I'm going to work on changing that, Mr. Kinney," he vowed softly.

They reluctantly slipped from each other's embrace to face the doctor, who was unable to completely hide his sympathy from them. Anderson always tried hard to remain neutral and impartial with his patients, but this time he found he was having a difficult time doing that. He silently vowed to do whatever it took to help these two men who loved each other so deeply recover what they had lost. Even with their present handicap, however, he thought they had a lot more blessings than most others, and that would put them in good stead to not only triumph over what had happened, but actually surpass it.

"Before you go, I want you to promise me that you will continue to talk over your feelings of misplaced guilt and blame over what happened," he said. "These sessions are meant to be a jumping off point – you need to continue discussing whatever topics are brought up here in private. But I want you both to know that from a professional standpoint, feelings of guilt over a rape are extremely common – as well as misguided. Neither of you are culpable in what happened – that is all on the shoulders of Prescott. And I think deep down you both realize that. Never lose sight of that fact."

Justin nodded, but Brian refused to acknowledge that statement; he was still trying to digest being used as a pawn to get Justin to surrender to his assault. "Doctor, can I ask you one more thing before we go?"

"Mark," the doctor said with a slight smile. "Please."

Justin nodded again. "Mark, then. How do we get past my problems in bed? I want to enjoy being with Brian again – in every sense of the word," he said softly, his meaning perfectly clear. "How do I get past the fear? How do I learn not to think of _him_ then? Because as soon as I close my eyes, that's what I see." He looked at Brian regretfully; the brunet reached to put his arm around Justin's slender waist silently in a show of support. He, too, wanted that so badly.

Anderson nodded. "It's only been two, three weeks, Justin. That's perfectly understandable. It will be gradual – it won't happen overnight. If you two _do_ try to make love in your bed again, try to concentrate on Brian's touch, his smell, his voice, his kiss; try to remember all those familiar things that you fell in love with at the beginning. Try to focus on who you're with – look at him, _really_ look at him, as you make love. And Brian, it's important for you to talk to Justin, to reassure him that's it really you there, and try to banish the other ugly thoughts aside. That is what will eventually help you both to overcome these problems, along with simply the passage of time. I have every confidence that you _will_ be able to, okay? You've already taken a big step last night," he reminded them.

Justin nodded, as he slid his own arm around Brian's waist and silently nudged him toward the door. "Come on, Brian," he whispered. "Let's go home, okay?"

Brian turned to stare into the intense blue eyes, so full of love for him, and it helped at least slightly to push some of the guilt away, if just temporarily. He nodded finally as he tightened his hold on Justin's waist and together the two left Anderson's inner chambers.

The doctor stared after them for a few seconds, silently wishing them luck, before turning to flip open the folder on his next arriving patient.

* * *

_Red Cape Comics – Two Hours Later_

"Ben? You're early," Michael remarked with a smile, his back to the door as he heard the familiar ring of the overhead bell. His husband had told him he would be over right after his class to pick him up to go to dinner. The two men were taking advantage of Hunter being at a movie to enjoy a little down alone together. "You must be the hungry one this time." He turned around, expecting to see the familiar face of his husband, and his face dropped at the sight of his best friend, standing there with his shoulders drooped and his face unexpectedly tear-stained and ashen. "God, what happened?" he asked in alarm, rushing over to the door. "Brian? Shit! Talk to me! What is it?"

Brian angrily brushed some moisture from his cheek with his shirt sleeve; he was a mess. His shirt was opened at the neck, the tails hanging out, his sleeves were unbuttoned, and his hair was unkempt. This was not the Brian Michael knew, at least not normally; the last time he had seen Brian this bad was when his father had died. He grabbed onto Brian's shirt with one hand as his other hand came up to cup the wet cheek. "Brian?" he pressed with great concern. Tell me what's going on!" he demanded.

Brian stared into his friend's eyes, so full of compassion, and he found the sympathetic ear he so desperately needed to find. "I need to talk to you, Mikey," he sputtered out before he promptly fell into his friend's arms and softly sobbed. "It's about Justin."


	26. A Mirror Looking In

Michael kept one hand on his friend while he quickly turned to click the latch to lock the shop's door; flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed,' he steered his friend toward the back room. He had recently installed a used, beige-colored corduroy couch near the back wall for times when business was slow and he needed a place to unwind, but he never thought he would need it like this, however. His heart beat in alarm as he scrutinized his friend's appearance. Brian was always so well-groomed, even when he was dressed casually; he never looked like the mess he was in now unless something horrendous had occurred. It took a lot for Brian to break down, even in front of him, and if something had happened to Justin…..

"Brian, what about Justin?" Michael asked him as they reached the couch and Brian practically fell down onto the cushion and just sat there, his body propped up like a boneless piece of meat as he silently cried; his face red and splotchy. "Brian….tell me!" he pressed urgently as he sat down next to him and shook his friend's arm slightly to get his attention. "You said something had happened to him…..What's going on?"

Brian finally turned to look at him as if he was noticing him for the first time. He blinked his eyes, causing more tears to fall and inhaled a deep breath through his mouth as he wiped some moisture from his cheeks with one of his shirtsleeves. Finally, he began to speak softly, his head bent low in front of him. Michael had to listen intently to understand what he was saying.

"He…..He was….."

Michael gripped Brian's arm almost painfully. "What, Brian? He was what?" He was really starting to get worried now over his friend's inability to express himself.

"He….he was _raped_," Brian finally choked out as he squeezed his eyes tightly together and brought his hands up to cover his face as if he was trying to block out the knowledge and the image of what Prescott had done to his husband. Even now – even after so many days had passed– just saying the word out loud filled him with a wide range of emotions from hurt, guilt and sorrow to outright fury over what that monster had done to his husband.

Michael's face went pale. "Holy shit," he said, his brown eyes widening in disbelief. "How? When?" All sorts of questions ran through his mind as he looked over at his defeated-looking best friend. _Did it just happen? If it did, where was Justin_? He knew Brian would never leave him, not if something like that had happened. "Brian…..where is he? Is he okay?" Of course Michael knew as soon as that question left his mouth that obviously Justin wouldn't be 'okay.' He knew for sure how stupid that question sounded, though, when he got a look at Brian's face.

He heard Brian huff out an angry breath as he raised his head to stare back at him, his eyes haunted and dark. He laughed slightly in incredulity. "Okay, Mikey? Is he _okay_?" He shook his head at the inane question. "What do you _think? Okay? _No, Michael, he is NOT okay…..and neither am I." His voice rose as he continued. "I thought that was why I was here, to talk to someone about it, but obviously I was wrong because you don't fucking understand at _all, _do you?" He began to rise from the couch but Michael pulled him firmly back down.

"Brian….Come on, I'm sorry, okay? I know, I know – that was a dumb thing to say," he admitted, firmly keeping hold of his friend's sleeve to prevent him from leaving. "I know Justin couldn't possibly be all right after what you just told me, so talk to me," he implored softly. "Tell me what's the fuck's going on. Where _is_ he?" Even now, he was having difficulty processing what Brian had just told him.

Brian sat there for a few seconds, his jaw set as he decided whether he should stay or go before he finally revealed wearily, "He's over at Jennifer's condo, talking to Daphne who just got back into town. He needed someone to talk to…..just like I do."

As his best friend nodded in understanding Brian sighed heavily, realizing he really _did_ need to talk to Michael, despite his occasional ridiculous and thoughtless slips of the tongue. Justin had told him before that he would stand by whichever decision he made regarding whether or not to tell Michael what had happened, and at first he had had no intention of ever telling Michael. He knew that Justin had been humiliated and embarrassed enough over what had happened, even though he was in no way at fault, and he knew he preferred that as few people as possible be told about it; it had been a minor miracle that Debbie had kept his confidence somehow, but amazingly enough she had done so, probably because it was 'her Sunshine' and he knew how strongly she felt about him.

But after their session today at the therapist's office, he just couldn't handle it anymore. When he had discovered the reason why Justin couldn't fight back against the rape, the guilt that had slowly been dissipating over the past few weeks had come back with an even greater vengeance. He couldn't get the thought out of his mind that his own safety had been used against Justin to hold him prisoner and make him unable to defend himself.

On the way from Anderson's office, Justin had tried his best to persuade Brian that he couldn't possibly hold himself responsible for what Prescott had done; after all, the fucker had done a consummate job of playing both of them against each other. He had known just how to keep both of them in line; all he had had to do was whisper just the threat of hurting the other and he could extract whatever degree of control he needed from them. And it had worked like a charm; both had been far too fearful of the other one being harmed to do what every fiber of their being was telling them to do: fight back. In Brian's case his inability to fight back had merely translated into him being drugged temporarily to get him effectively out of the way. With Justin, though, his ordeal had been much more personal as well as painful. And that pain had been driven deep into his _own_ heart as well.

"Brian…..are you on something?" Michael suddenly asked with concern, noticing how bleary-eyed and unfocused his friend's eyes looked and how drawn his face was, although he hadn't really seen Brian taking any type of recreational drug in a long time. In fact, Brian had seemed so happy being married to Justin that just before their first-year anniversary Michael couldn't help teasing him that he was 'high on Sunshine' instead of E. To his surprise, Brian hadn't denied it but had merely curled his lips under and smiled softly as if in silent agreement. Now, as he looked at his friend's face filled with anguish, he knew he had been right – he really _was_ high on his love for Justin because the pain was etched all over his handsome features.

Brian shook his head angrily at the preposterous inquiry. "No, _Mikey_…..I'm not on any of Anita's fucking drugs!" he snarled. "Fuck! Why did I think this was a good idea?" he muttered. "I needed to talk to you, Michael. If all you're going to do is throw accusations at me…."

"No…No, I'm not," he reassured him quickly, still holding onto Brian's wrist. "I….oh, fuck it…..I don't know why I said that! I guess I'm still in shock over what you just told me. Shit, Brian! How did it happen?" He gazed into his friend's troubled eyes, deciding that no, this was worse than when Jack Kinney had died; it would have to be, knowing how much Brian deeply loved Justin. He remembered how supportive Brian had been of Justin during that awful period when Lane Prescott had stalked him and when both of them had had to endure testifying against him. Their lives had finally gotten back to normal and they seemed so happy. Why in the fuck did this have to happen now? "Brian…..talk to me."

Brian licked his lips to try and get his mouth to resume speaking; it was painful talking about this in front of the doctor, and he was discovering it was just as painful talking to Michael about it, too. Just _thinking _about it made him so angry, so very angry, that someone could do something so heinous to someone who was so beautiful, both inside and out. "It was him, Mikey…..It was _always_ him."

* * *

_Fifteen Minutes Later_

Michael sat there in shock, not even realizing his hand was still tightly gripping Brian's arm as he tried to process what Brian had just told him. He had quickly decided to call Ben to advise him an emergency had come up and he would have to explain later, not wanting anyone to interrupt his and Brian's conversation once he had found out why Brian was so upset. But to find out that not only had Justin been raped but also assaulted by the same man who was supposed to have been put away for life was unfathomable. He had heard of Prescott's escape from jail and his subsequent death at the hands of the same county prosecutor who had won a conviction against him, but he had never heard a peep about either Brian or Justin being in jeopardy again. He was stunned. Not only stunned about this latest course of events, but perhaps even more surprised and just a tad hurt that Brian hadn't come to him before now.

"I…..I don't really know what to say," he said softly, peering into his friend's face that was normally so confident and self-assured; looking at the anguished expression on Brian's face now, though, he knew what Brian's only vulnerable spot was next to Gus, the same vulnerability he had always had ever since he had first laid eyes on a young, nervous, blond twink: Justin. It seemed that Prescott had found the most effective way to hurt Brian for what he no doubt had seen as a slap in the face to his own masculinity and his power – losing Justin to _him_. "Brian…..I am so sorry." He shook his head, still unable to quite believe what he was hearing. He thought Prescott was safely tucked away, never to do either of them harm ever again, but it seemed the man had reserved his most horrific act for last. "I'm glad the bastard's dead," Michael muttered softly.

Brian huffed in quiet fury, his eyes full of hatred at just the thought of that monster. "Death was too good for him – _hell_ is too good for him. I wanted to rip him limb from limb, throw acid in his face, saw each finger off one by one…..he would have been screaming for me to kill him by the time _I _got done with him." He clenched his fists tightly, digging his fingernails into the tender flesh of his palms as he looked at his friend. "Mikey….I would have given anything to have had that chance. But now it's too late; all that's left is knowing who was responsible for him doing what he did in the first place - _me_."

Michael looked at him in stunned astonishment. "Surely you're not blaming yourself for what happened?"

"Who _else_ can I blame? If I had only taken the asshole out in the first place, if I had managed to protect Justin better, if I hadn't let one of my own goddamn employees lure me to lunch to get drugged as bait for his scheme, none of this would have happened, Michael! NONE of it! Who else is there to blame, huh?"

Michael shook his head in anger. "You are NOT going down that road, Brian Kinney! No fucking way! No one is to blame for what happened but that fucker Prescott who wouldn't leave Justin alone! Do you really think if he hadn't succeeded in his attempts to lure Justin out there with you he would have stopped? NO! That man was obsessed with Justin from the moment he saw him! You know that! How can you even think that? Shit, Brian! Surely Justin doesn't feel that way."

Brian let out an anxious breath. "No," he admitted. "But you know Justin. He would never blame me even if I deserved it."

Michael reached out and placed his hand under Brian's chin to force him to look at him. "That's bullshit, Brian," he told him flatly. You _know_ you're not to blame for this any more than _he_ was. You feel terrible about what happened – I get that. Just like I feel terrible that Ben's HIV positive. But you know what? Neither one of us are to blame for what happened. But all of us have to deal with it and move on with our lives."

"Yeah…..Just like that; right, move on with our lives. Well, it's not the same, Mikey," Brian told him bluntly. "You weren't even involved with Ben when he contracted HIV. He's got a disease. He wasn't…_attacked_ and humiliated by a fucking monster." Even now after their therapy sessions together, Brian couldn't make himself say the word _rape _aloud; just the mention of the word made him sick to his stomach.

Michael dropped his hand to his side. "No, he wasn't," he agreed. "But both have been put into a horrible situation. And you know what? They're both very strong men. Hell, look what Justin's been through in his life already, and he's managed to persevere every time. He will get through this situation just like he has before, Brian. And I know you will be instrumental in helping him accomplish that."

Brian snorted. "Justin would be better off without _my_ _help,"_ he retorted, biting the last words off as if they were distasteful. His eyes widened in surprise, however, as Michael jumped to his feet and turned around to face him, his brown eyes flashing in anger.

"Damn it, Brian! You know _better_ than that! You know that's NOT true! And you know that's not how Justin would look at it! That man has been in love with you since the first moment he saw you that night! He's been by your side through good times as well as bad. He _married_ you, for God's sake! He would no more want to go through this alone than cut off one of his _arms_! So don't you go playing the martyr here and sacrifice everything the two of you have built with some false sense of _nobility_!" Michael began to pace back and forth in incredulity. "I can't fucking _believe_ you, Brian! How could you even think that? The two of you have always been stronger together than apart. You both need each other; don't push Justin away because of some misguided notion of guilt. He needs you, just as much as you need him."

Brian's mouth twisted up in a wry smile. "I knew there was a reason why I came over here," he drawled, his face relaxing as Michael returned his smile sheepishly. "You always were good for my ego."

Michael huffed softly. "You don't _need_ any bigger ego," he teased before he sobered. "Well, not normally, anyway." He gazed at his friend in sympathy as he walked over to sit back down beside him. "Brian….all you need is an objective opinion from someone not directly involved in what's been going on. And I'm telling you – if that man hadn't used you to get to Justin, he would have done it some other way. That wouldn't have stopped him. Deep down you know that. You need to get rid of this major guilt trip you're on and concentrate instead on taking care of Justin – and yourself. Stop beating yourself up over something you had no control over, and focus on all the good things you and Justin have together. Celebrate the fact that you're both alive and together and you _beat_ the fucker at his own game. You're here and he isn't, and the two of you have the rest of your lives to rub it in his pathetic face."

Brian reached out to grab Michael's neck and pull him toward his face so that they were nose to nose. "When did you get to be so smart, Mikey?" he murmured. He pulled back enough to gaze into the thoughtful brown eyes of his long-time friend as Michael smiled at him.

"I guess you've rubbed off on me," he replied teasingly. "Now are you going to trust that I know what I'm talking about and shed the martyr syndrome once and for all? I think there's a certain man who really needs you right now."

Brian let out a breath to calm himself; at the mention of Justin, his thoughts immediately strayed to his husband, the man he loved so deeply and who was trying to overcome perhaps the worst pain he had ever had to endure. Michael was right – it was time to move beyond pointing fingers and concentrate on the two of them building their lives together. They had spent more than enough time worrying about that useless piece of trash. It was time to give Prescott a big, giant, fuck you and move on with their lives.

"Yeah," Brian told his friend as he stood up and rubbed his hands restlessly on his thighs. "I need to get going. I'm sure Justin is ready to go home…..and so am I."

Michael nodded at him as he stood to join him. "Yeah…I'm sure Ben's wondering what's going on, too. Although, whenever you're involved, it normally means it's probably going to be complicated."

Brian snorted. "I'm the most uncomplicated person you know, Mikey," he joked before he leaned down to give his friend a brief kiss. "Thank the professor for letting me keep his hubby out beyond his curfew time."

"I'll do that," Michael told him as Brian turned to leave. "And Brian…..tell Justin I'm thinking of him. And I know everything's going to be all right."

Brian flipped the latch to unlock the door as he turned to face his friend. "I will," he whispered with surprising seriousness. "And you're right, Mikey – we're _both_ going to be all right." He paused for a second before adding softly, "Thanks," as he opened the door and quietly walked out.

Michael nodded silently as he watched his friend go, his heart going out to both men but knowing Brian was right. With the love the two of them shared, he had no doubt that once more they would overcome whatever obstacles were thrown at them. "Yeah," he whispered. "You'll both be just fine."

* * *

_Thirty Minutes Later – Jennifer's Condo_

"Justin? Want some more iced tea?" Daphne called out from the nearby kitchen. Jennifer had left about an hour ago to grocery shop, knowing her son was in good hands with his best friend visiting.

The blond shook his head. "No, thanks," he told her as she walked back and sat down on the couch next to him with her refilled glass and placed it down on a coaster on top of the coffee table.

She studied him silently for a few seconds. He didn't look any different than he always did. If Justin hadn't confided in her what had happened, she might never have found out. But now that she knew, her heart was breaking inside for what he had been through, what both he and Brian were _still_ going through. Was there no end to what Justin had to endure? He was so young to have experienced what had happened to him. But as she looked at her friend's stoic expression on his face, she knew that one thing Justin _didn't_ want right now was her pity, so she forced a congenial expression to appear on her face.

Justin glanced over at her and smiled softly. "How long will you be in town?"

"Just for a few days," she said apologetically. "Have to be back at school on Monday."

He nodded. "I'm glad you came home," he told her. "I needed to talk to you."

Her eyes filled with tears, despite her wish to remain strong. "I wish you had called me," she whispered. "I would have come home no matter what."

Justin smiled softly. "I know, Daph. And I appreciate that more than you know. But there really wasn't anything you could have done to change what happened. And…..Brian and I needed to work through it together. I guess we still do."

Daphne reached over to take her friend's hand and squeeze it briefly before letting go. "It'll work out, Justin. You two love each other too much to let this defeat you. You said he was going over to talk to Michael – I think that's a good idea."

Justin nodded. "Yeah…I think so, too – really. Before I might not have felt that way," he conceded. "But Michael's always told it like it is; he won't mince words with Brian. If anyone can straighten Brian out about this guilt trip he's on, Michael can. At least I hope so."

Their trip from the doctor's office had been quite tense, with Brian declaring that it had been all his fault and Justin arguing that he was talking bullshit. Daphne had called him just then on his cell phone to tell him she had stopped at his mom's condo on the way in from the airport to say hello, and it had actually been his idea for Brian to go see Michael at his shop while he visited with Daphne. He hoped that Brian's best friend would be able to talk some much-needed sense into his husband.

"I think he will," she said reassuringly, pulling her legs up to sit, Indian style, on the couch to face her friend. "Don't worry," she whispered. "You two will work everything out – it's just going to take some time."

Justin sighed. "I'm really beginning to hate that phrase, Daphne. Deep down I know that, but I want things back to normal for Brian and me." He looked over at her a little embarrassed. "I want to do more than just sleep in our bed."

She looked at him sympathetically. She of all people knew how passionate Justin and Brian were toward each other, how much their closeness meant to them. To not be able to express that in the most intimate of ways had to be heartbreaking for both of them. "I know," she said. "But you did make love in the shower," she reminded him. "That's a start, Justin. And it'll happen – you'll see. Just follow what the doctor told you. I know it'll work out, I'm sure of it."

Justin reached out to grasp Daphne's lower leg and squeeze it. "I'm so glad you're back home, Daph. I've missed you."

Once more her eyes filled with sentimental tears. "I've missed you, too, you cheese ball."

Justin laughed at the memory of the first time Daphne had backhandedly called him that. Right now that seemed like ages ago. It had been when he was still with Ethan, and he had thought they might actually have a chance at a long-term relationship, only to discover that he had merely been deluding himself. In light of what had happened since then, it seemed like an eternity ago now and his troubles seemed so insignificant then compared to the present. But his life was much fuller now, too, because Brian was in it, and he wouldn't have traded the past few years with him for anything.

A knock on the front door startled them from their thoughts as Justin turned to stare over at the half-frosted entrance, sighing a silent breath of relief as he recognized Brian's tall frame. "Looks like he's back," he said, arising from his position and walking over to unlock it.

Brian's eyes warmed at the sight of his husband and Justin smiled softly back at him as he walked in.

"Hey," he whispered to the blond, placing his hands on Justin's shoulders and leaning down to give him a brief, soft kiss on the lips.

"Hey yourself," Justin answered as he stared into the hazel eyes that appeared perhaps a bit less like a stormy sea of trouble; hopefully Michael had been helpful to Brian after all. He turned to look over at Daphne, who smiled at their new arrival.

"Why, if it isn't my biggest fan….Hello, Darling," Brian purred as he walked toward the slender woman and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Been keeping my hubby entertained in my absence?" He plopped down on a nearby matching recliner as he faced both Daphne and his husband, who had rejoined her on the couch.

"Been doing my best," she answered congenially, deciding it was best she not offer her sympathy over what had happened. She sensed that was not what Justin would want; what either man would want. "I'm glad I got to come home for a few days to catch up on things."

"Yeah," Brian said with unexpected seriousness. "I am, too." There was no need to ask Brian just what he meant by that comment; she already knew. He glanced over at Justin who was staring in his eyes with a silent question of his own; he knew Justin wanted to know what happened between him and Michael. "How long will you be home?" he asked the young woman.

"Just for a few days," she replied. "I have to be back at school on Monday."

He nodded in response but his eyes were only for Justin as he said, "Well, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to steal Justin away for a while. Maybe the three of us can have dinner tomorrow night at the loft, though, okay?"

Justin smiled at the thought, touched by Brian's thoughtfulness while at the same time dying to know what Brian wanted to talk to him about. "Yeah, Daphne, come over tomorrow night for dinner. I might even be talked into cooking one of my specialties for you."

"Really?" She had been the recipient of some of her friend's cooking before and had found out that Justin was a surprisingly good cook, especially with Italian dishes. "Something Italian? And dessert?"

Justin couldn't help smiling at her eagerness. "I think I could have my arm twisted," he told her. "And I'll even make the tiramisu."

"Well, that just sealed the deal, then," she commented with a smile. "What time?"

Justin looked over at Brian, who said, "Seven o'clock?"

She nodded. "I'll be there – want me to bring a couple of DVDs to watch?"

"Sure," Brian shrugged. "Just no chick flicks – I see enough of those when Emmett comes over to visit."

She laughed. "Okay….I'll do my best. Maybe sci fi or something macho – got it." Sensing that Brian really wanted to be alone with Justin, she rose from her place on the couch to reach over and grab her lightweight denim jacket hanging over the back of another nearby chair. "I'll let myself out," she said as she leaned over to give Justin a kiss on the cheek and nod over at Brian, who returned the gesture. "I'll see you two tomorrow night. Tell your mom it was great seeing her again – I'm going to run on over to my parents' house and spend the night there," she told them.

Just as she reached the door handle to leave, she heard her friend calling her name and turned to look at him curiously.

"Daphne?"

"Yes?"

Justin smiled gratefully at her. "Thanks…..for everything."

She smiled back at both of them, nodding, before she opened the door and quietly closed it behind her, silently hoping that these two men she cared so deeply about and who cared so deeply for each other would be able to work out their problems and return to a sense of normalcy. _You can do it, guys_, she whispered to herself as she walked toward her car in the driveway.

As Daphne walked out of the condo, Brian rose from his place on the chair and took her previous seat on the couch, reaching to take Justin's slender hand in his own. "You and Daphne have a good talk?" he asked softly, slowly rubbing the pale flesh beneath his fingers gently as he stared into the blue eyes of his husband.

Justin stared back at him, fascinated as always by the ever-changing hues in Brian's eyes. They always say the eyes were the windows of the soul; it was certainly true in Brian's case. His eyes could say so much with just one gaze, and right now they were telling him how much he loved him and it made his heart skip a beat in response. "Uh, huh," he whispered back. "I missed talking to her."

Brian nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure you have. Best friends can make you see things a lot differently than you can yourself."

Justin licked his lips thoughtfully. "Are you talking about me here or you?" he asked softly.

"I guess both of us," Brian admitted as he continued to caress Justin's hand. "I think we both needed to see the situation from the outside looking in."

Justin nodded. "Michael did that?"

"Yeah…..He did. He wasn't too happy with the guilt trip I've been laying on myself."

"Neither have I," Justin admitted, eyeing his husband intently. "I hope he told you how unfounded and totally ridiculous that is."

Brian huffed. "Yeah, as a matter of fact he did, Sunshine," he replied. "And he didn't waste time telling me that, either."

Justin smiled. "Good for him. Michael always was good at beating you upside the head when the need warranted it. He must get that from Debbie, although she's more physical about it than I imagine he is."

"Yeah," Brian told him, rubbing his jaw over an imaginary injury. "She has a mean right hook as I recall, along with the occasional wallops on the side of Michael's head that she had been known to cut loose with. Frankness must be an inherited trait with the Novotny clan." His lips twisted into a wry grin. "I think he managed to straighten me out pretty good."

Justin scooted over to be closer to Brian as he told him softly, "I hope so. We really need to stop punishing ourselves for what he did, Brian. There's only one person to blame here and it's not either one of us. You do believe that, don't you? Can we finally call a truce and decide to place the blame where it's really needed? On _his_ shoulders and his alone?"

Brian curled his lips under as he gazed into the sapphire blue eyes. "Yeah….I think we can. As a matter of fact, I'd really like for us to go home now so I can have some private time with just my husband. What do you say?"

Justin smiled. "I'd say that sounds like a good plan to me, Mr. Kinney. I'm ready to go home, too."

Brian nodded as he rose from the couch and pulled Justin up to face him. He slid his hands around the slim waist as Justin placed his own hands on his chest. He leaned down to kiss the slightly parted lips softly, choosing not to push any deeper at the moment before he pulled back to gaze down into Justin's eyes. "Let's go home then, Sunshine," he whispered.

Justin nodded as he clasped his hands in Brian's and they walked, hand in hand, toward the door.


	27. Pushing Through the Pain Into Joy

Nothing material had changed inside Brian's car – it was still the same leather bucket seats, the same retro interior, the same round dashboard instruments, even the same CD playing in the premium music system that Brian had had installed after purchasing the vintage car. Nothing about the vehicle itself had changed; but still, as the two men drove home, it was almost as if the air was lighter inside the car and an almost crushing weight had been lifted from them. Perhaps somehow it was finally sinking in that neither man was to blame for what Lane Prescott had done to them – and it was _them_; BOTH men had been profoundly impacted by what he had done to Justin. You could not love a man as deeply as Brian did Justin without being affected as well.

After a few minutes, Brian glanced over at his husband, finding his intense blue eyes focused on him as if they had read each other's minds. The brunet couldn't help peering at him tenderly, wondering just how much Daphne's pep talk with him had helped. "You're kind of quiet," he observed softly.

Justin smiled wistfully back in return. "Just thinking."

Brian arched an eyebrow. "About what?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between Justin and the road as they drove toward the loft.

"About how lucky I am," he answered unexpectedly.

Brian frowned at the astounding reply; after what Justin had endured lately, _lucky_ would have been the last word he would have expected him to use. "Lucky? How?"

Justin huffed out a soft breath of exasperation; didn't Brian understand? He shook his head in amazement. "Brian…..don't you realize why?" He paused a few seconds, incredulous that this man didn't already know, before explaining, "After everything I've been through – what _we've_ been through," he corrected. "There's no way I would have ever gotten through any of this without you."

Brian's mouth twisted up into a tender look as he looked over at his husband. He shook his head. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Sunshine," he murmured. "You're a lot stronger than you look. You'd have to be, or you wouldn't have come out on the other end from all this."

"Maybe," he answered reluctantly. "But I still couldn't have handled all this without you. I wouldn't have _wanted_ to." His eyes glistened with the tears that suddenly formed over the thought of having to bear what he had suffered without Brian at his side. There had been a time when he was younger that he would have never thought of being an equal partner with someone so forceful and almost overpowering as Brian Kinney; but now that they had been together for so many years, he couldn't imagine his life without him.

Almost of one accord, the two men reached to link their hands together between them as Brian nodded. "Well, you'll never have to worry about that," he stated simply. "Because I won't let you."

"I'm glad," Justin whispered. "Because I'm not planning on letting you go, either."

Brian smiled. "Well, then we agree; I always _knew_ we were compatible." He pulled Justin's hand toward him to bestow a kiss on top of the pale flesh before dropping their hands back to lie companionably between them on the seat. Justin turned his head to face Brian and smiled back at him just before his eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes, weary after their latest, gut-wrenching counseling session and the raw emotions that had been churned up.

Brian's gaze lingered on the beautiful, strong face for a few seconds before he curled his fingers around Justin's hand comfortingly and steered his car back toward Lawrenceville.

_Ninety Minutes Later - Loft_

Justin wiped his hands on a nearby dishtowel as he finished placing the last dirty dinner dish into the bottom rack of the dishwasher.

"I would have ordered out, you know," A bare-footed Brian told him from his place at the kitchen table, his long legs stretched out before him. "You didn't have to cook."

Justin shook his head as he draped the dark-blue towel over the sink divider and turned to face his husband. "I wanted to," he insisted. "It kept my mind off other things," he admitted softly. The darkness of night was fast approaching now; the slow emergence of a star-studded, inky blanket could be seen above through the row of skylights that had been installed over the upstairs living area and his art studio below. He paused for a moment to study the space below, finding it somewhat reassuring that for once, the thought of resuming his painting in earnest didn't fill him with sadness and dread; instead, he actually felt the beginning inklings of eagerness to begin a new work, one that would be inspired by his husband's continuing love and support of him.

He turned around to walk over toward Brian as the brunet rose to his feet. "Want to go watch some TV?" he asked. He really wasn't interested in watching any particular program. It just seemed that since Prescott had so horribly re-entered their lives recently, he couldn't stand being anywhere for long without having some sort of noise around; he found it comforting in a weird sort of way.

Brian shook his head. "No….I have a better idea." Justin looked at him curiously as he took his hand and led him over to the living room; he walked over to the coffee table and picked up the remote to their stereo system. A few seconds later, a familiar, soft jazz tune filled the air. It was one of their favorite songs to listen to when they were craving quiet time between just the two of them. "Dance with me," he beseeched him, softly pulling Justin toward the middle of the room. His husband seemed to hesitate slightly for a moment before he relaxed and allowed Brian to lead him to an unobstructed part of the floor.

As the quiet strains of the piano continued to reverberate throughout the open space of their home, Brian turned toward Justin to pull him into his arms, his hands linking around the trim waist to settle just above his slender hips. He gazed into the gentle blue eyes, almost afraid to hold Justin too tightly for fear he would recoil from his touch; his heart soared as Justin placed his hands around Brian's neck and pulled him even closer until their chests were flush with each other, almost as if he wanted their bodies to meld into one. Brian, feeling encouraged, slowly slid his hands around to link them at the small of Justin's back.

They had danced so many times before – mainly at Babylon but occasionally at Brian's old loft; here in their new home, Brian had become more comfortable initiating a round of dancing from time to time between the two of them. Of course, normally this activity would lead to something else more passionate – fondling, kissing, then invariably out-and-out fucking or making love, depending upon their mood at the time. And perhaps this time, Brian was silently wishing for the same thing; no, he was _craving _it like some incurable addiction. But he knew that whatever happened, it was up to Justin; as much as he missed their intimacy, he was prepared to tough it out until Justin was ready.

Brian sighed and closed his eyes as he rested his cheek against his husband's head, relishing the feel of Justin in his arms as their bodies slowly swayed from side to side in time with the sensual music. He felt Justin's heartbeat fluttering rapidly against his chest and his hands feathering the back of his neck as they continued to dance, their disproportionate frames somehow fitting together perfectly like they always did.

They stayed that way for several minutes, swaying in place with their hands firmly grasping each other's bodies, until the music finally came to an end and the loft was draped in silence; only the sounds of two twin hearts beating as if in synchrony and soft breaths of anticipation could be heard as Brian opened his eyes slowly and pulled back a bit to stare into the trusting blue eyes of his husband. His gaze drunk in the captivatingly-beautiful face until his eyes instinctively lowered to look at Justin's perfectly-shaped lips; unable to resist, he slowly and tentatively leaned in to brush his lips gently against his.

At the first touch of Brian's mouth moving on his, Justin flicked his tongue out slightly to softly lick across the tender flesh and Brian's mouth opened in silent invitation to deepen the kiss. He waited, not wanting to push Justin any further than he was prepared for, until a few seconds later Justin pulled on Brian's neck to bring him closer and thrust his tongue inside to taste the unique sweetness of his lover.

It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes to Brian as his heart began to pound in anticipation; trying hard not to leap to hopeful conclusions, he couldn't resist moving his hand up to cup the back of Justin's neck to angle his head more firmly as the kiss became more fervid, more passionate by the second. As they continued to kiss, their tongues seeking every drop of intriguing nectar from each other's mouths, Justin's hands moved almost blindly from Brian's neck to the front of his shirt as he began to unbutton it.

Brian felt a jolt of surprise before he forced himself to break off the kiss, leaning back enough to stare into the darkening sapphire eyes that were like two deep pools of the clearest ocean; he knew that look and he rejoiced in it, albeit with some caution. It was the familiar look of passion and lust in his husband's eyes that he knew so well. But they were standing in their living room, not lying in their bed. Would Justin – _could_ he – be able to carry this through to its typical conclusion, the one that Brian had been so desperately craving for what seemed like an eternity? Dare he even encourage it? He was at once both elated and scared to death to try.

"Justin…." he whispered in warning, his breathing coming out now in ragged pulses of desire; just the whispery, feather touch of Justin's talented, long-fingered hands brushing against his skin sent waves of desire flooding through his body . He knew what he wanted, even what Justin wanted, but dare he hope that this would be the night? "Maybe this isn't a good idea…." He tried to rationalize, even though his body was crying out otherwise.

Justin, however, resolutely continued to unbutton Brian's shirt almost desperately as Brian grasped him by his upper arms and shook him gently, trying to get his attention but not necessarily wanting to discourage him; his body was crying out for a release that only this man could give him. Justin merely shook his head at first, ignoring him as he kept his eyes down and concentrated on his task as he whispered, "Please, Brian….I want you so much. Let me try….." He pleaded, finally turning his gaze upward to stare into the concerned hazel eyes, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears of frustration and pent-up desire, of a wish for his husband to understand how badly he needed to try and overcome the horrid plight Prescott had thrust upon him. He was not going to let that monster beat him or defeat his and Brian's love for each other. _Please, let this be the night….. _

Brian swallowed his misgivings as he nodded silently, slowly stroking and caressing Justin's arms in subtle encouragement. He stared into Justin's eyes, trying to convey what his heart was feeling, as Justin finally succeeded in completely unbuttoning his shirt; he dropped his hands long enough for Justin to slowly slide the shirt from his muscular shoulders as it fluttered to the ground in an ignored heap. Brian's breath hitched in his throat as he watched Justin reach out with his palms to lightly slide them up his chest; he sucked in a soft gasp of exquisite pleasure as his husband's hands slid over the sensitive flesh of his nipples on their way up to his shoulders and then made a light journey down his arms until their hands finally met and their fingers intertwined together.

Justin turned to begin pulling Brian toward the bedroom; every step was like a momentous journey of hope, of rediscovery, of nervous anticipation as they walked into the room and stood next to their king-sized bed. The room was softly illuminated only by the stars and full moon now shining brightly through the tall windows of the former industrial space. The light was intimate, inviting, and yes, romantic, and right at that moment, Brian didn't give a flying fuck _what_ it was called. He was too worried about whether he was doing the right thing encouraging Justin to push himself to attempt what they had not been able to do for weeks now. He wanted this so badly for Justin, for himself, but what if he couldn't go through with it? Would it just push him even farther back from the progress he HAD made? Ultimately, though, he knew he had to let him try, just as he knew he needed to catch him if he fell, to reassure him that he would wait forever if that was what it took. Because he would…that was how much he loved this man and how much he had changed him.

He reached over to lightly stroke the pale cheek, marveling at the warmth there; in the moonlight he thought Justin had never looked more fragile but also more fiercely beautiful than he did at that moment. "I love you," he told him softly without any hint of hesitation, staring intently into his eyes; how easily that vow fell from his lips now. "And I'll be here with you – forever."

Justin pursed his lips together to try and stem the flow of tears threatening to break out as he reached over to lightly brush his fingers across Brian's lips almost reverently before he lowered them toward the fly of Brian's jeans; Brian could see his hand trembling as he fumbled with the lone button. "Let me," Brian told him gently as he grasped Justin's hand and squeezed it briefly. Justin gazed into his reassuring eyes for a few seconds before he nodded.

Brian kept his eyes locked on Justin's as he reached down and undid the single button and unzipped his pants; taking hold of the waistband he grasped both his pants and briefs and in one fluid motion slid them down his long legs as they pooled at his feet before he stepped out of then fluidly; as he stood there completely naked now, for some inexplicable reason his soul felt like it was bared to Justin's eyes as well and he felt unexpectedly vulnerable. As his hazel orbs continued to stare almost nervously into the blue eyes he knew so well, he slowly walked closer to Justin, silently asking for permission to do what he was craving to do so badly. His heart leapt into his throat as Justin whispered simply, "Touch me, Brian."

Brian tampered down his anxiety as he reached out to place his palms against the warmth of Justin's face; his thumbs gently stroked across the pale, almost luminescent cheeks as he smiled tenderly, reassuringly into the beautiful face. "You know I want you so badly, Justin….so fucking badly. But it's your call; you tell me if you want me to stop." Justin swallowed the lump that threatened to lodge in his throat as, to Brian's surprise, the brunet felt his owns hands shaking as he reached out to grasp the hem of Justin's shirt. Justin continued to stare into his husband's eyes as he raised his hands over his head in silent encouragement for Brian to pull the shirt from his slim body.

As Justin stood there shirtless and trembling under his husband's heated gaze, Brian's fingers reached out to trail a gentle path of reunion and loving reassurance down Justin's chest. _Slowly,_ he whispered to himself like he was touching a fragile bird with a broken wing. _Slowly…._ He took an even, deep breath as he gazed into Justin's eyes, waiting for any sign of discomfort, of painful recollection, but to his relief all he saw was trust and love as the blond nodded and bit his lip nervously.

Emboldened so far by Justin's tacit acceptance of his actions, Brian's hands crept lower to the waistband of Justin's jeans; he rested his hands there for a moment to make sure his husband wouldn't change his mind before he reached out to unbutton the top button of his fly, again waiting for a few seconds to make sure Justin was okay, before he slowly slid the zipper down all the way. His hand casually brushed against the hardening, pulsating flesh of Justin's cock and his heart began to pound in hope as he chanced once more to peer up into Justin's eyes, afraid to see the beginning pangs of rejection there but miraculously finding instead the flares of desire for him reflecting back.

_One step at a time_…..his hand crept down to grasp the waistband surrounding the slim hips as his fingers curled around the fabric. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he firmly took hold of the denim fabric and the cotton briefs together and, with one more look at Justin for confirmation, he slowly slid the material down the pale legs, squatting down to gently remove his husband's shoes and socks before pulling the pants and briefs further down while Justin placed his hands on Brian's shoulders and stepped out of them.

Brian slowly rose to his feet, his gaze momentarily resting again on Justin's hardening sign of his desire for him as he stood to his full height and stared into his husband's eyes. He lifted one corner of his mouth to smile softly at him before he took Justin's hand and led him the few steps over to the bed. With his free hand, he reached out to brush some soft golden hair away from Justin's eyes; he always loved the longer, almost rebellious length of Justin's hair when he let it grow out and he was glad this was one of those times. He licked his lips to restore some moisture to the dry surface as he whispered, "Are you sure?" He held his breath as he waited for Justin's reply. He knew this wasn't the first time they had stood with both bared souls as well as bodies since that horrible monster had re-entered their lives, but when they had made love before, it had been in the safe confines of their shower. This was going to be in their bed, a potential reminder of where Prescott's evil had occurred and the source of so many of Justin's nightmares.

His back to the bed, Justin bit his lip and shook his head determinedly. "No," he whispered honestly, swallowing hard. "But I trust you. I _love_ you. I want this so much. I have to try, Brian, or I'll never know." He reached out to take Brian's hand. "Please….." he pleaded. It had felt like so long…so fucking long…..

Brian nodded, leaning in so their foreheads were touching. "I will be with you every step of the way," he told him, knowing it sounded somewhat ludicrous but realizing that Justin would understand. He was his husband, the man who loved him deeply. He wasn't the evil monster who had been so intent on violating him and taking his pride and strength away. He was telling Justin that they would persevere through this, that they would overcome this, as long as they were together. He was reminding Justin of what Dr. Anderson had told him – to concentrate on him and on their love for each other to help push through the pain and awful memories.

He could feel his breath hitching in reaction to the significance of what they were about to attempt. A feeling of extreme tenderness washed over him just then as he gazed at his uncertain, vulnerable-looking husband just before he made an impromptu decision and reached down to scoop Justin up into his arms; staring into his eyes, silently requesting him to keep looking at _him_ and not the horrid monster that his worst nightmares always conjured, he gently leaned over and placed the blond in their bed.

He reached over to the nearby nightstand to pull out the narrow drawer and retrieve a tube of lubricant and place it next to Justin, who stared at him wide-eyed. As he knelt on the bed beside him and leaned over to look into Justin's eyes to gauge his emotional state, he was relieved to see Justin peering up at him softly, trust and security written in his eyes. He knew it was important for them to concentrate on the here and now, not what had been, if they were to succeed. "I'll go slow," Brian whispered to him, leaning down to place a tender kiss on the slightly-parted, warm lips. He pulled back just enough to gaze into his eyes once more and smile gently at him. "That was nice," he said softly. "More?"

Justin nodded silently, not able to take his eyes off Brian. He wanted so badly for this to succeed, he _needed_ for it to succeed. He watched as Brian leaned in again, this time to bestow a more passionate kiss on his waiting lips; the brunet's tongue skillfully darted out to delve into his mouth as Justin's hands reached up to pull Brian's head closer to deepen it even further; their upper bodies molded together, skin on skin, as Brian's hands kept the rest of his body propped up slightly to avoid placing his entire weight on top of Justin for fear he would frighten him and set off another episode. He could hear Justin's soft, sighing moans of pleasure on his lips as he continued the kiss, making his heart began to beat in hopeful anticipation.

After several seconds of a thorough tongue washing by both men, Brian pulled back to gaze into the kiss-swollen lips of his husband; Justin's face was flushed but not in terror or pain – it was alight with lust and desire, hopeful signs. The last thing he was going to do was force Justin to do something that he wasn't ready for, but God, please let it be tonight…

"Justin…" he whispered out hoarsely, "I want you so badly…" Despite his intention to go slow, he was so desperately craving Justin's touch, the melding of his body with his; softly, almost timidly, he draped one of his legs over Justin's slim body, their limbs entangling below as their bodies twined together. As their rock-hard cocks brushed against each other in contact, it was like an explosion of flames erupting in his body. God, it had been so long….so very long…..

He heard Justin gasp audibly at the contact, but he wasn't worried by the sound; he knew that reaction and it was very encouraging. It was the familiar sound of yearning, of want….a sign that his husband desired more; Justin always had been the more vocal lover. But did that mean that he would be able to go through with it, though? He braced himself on one elbow to lean back and stare into the darkening blue eyes. "You okay?" he whispered in concern, leaning down to give Justin a quick, reassuring kiss on his lips. He nuzzled the side of the pale face before he pulled back to look once more in his eyes for a response; he could feel Justin's heart beating rapidly under his chest like some frightened, fragile baby bird.

The blond nodded, his eyes wide with emotion – so many feelings were reflected there: love for this man who had stood by him for so long, apprehension that he might not be able to go through with what he and Brian so desperately wanted to do, fear that the ghost of Lane Prescott would rise once more just when he and Brian were about to reinstate their intimacy. But he had to try, damn it; he was so tired of letting that man win over them. "Yeah…." He finally managed to breathe out somewhat hesitantly, "but I need to look at you." Even though he wanted this so much, could he go through with it? He only knew one thing – he had to try; he wanted this – for both of them. He placed his hands on Brian's strong, chiseled biceps, feeling the steady, reassuring pulse underneath the warm, smooth flesh.

Brian nodded as he kept his eyes locked on Justin's; he wanted this so much he could almost taste it; just the possibility of finally being able to make love with Justin in their bed made his body tingle in anticipation. But was it too much to expect? Was it too fast, even though every fiber in his body was crying out for it? Looking at the anxious look of hesitation, the rarely-used endearment tumbled out as he tried to make one last stab at restraint, "We don't have to do this, Baby….we can do something else."

Just the thought that Brian was willing to put his needs about his own filled his heart with even more love for this man; he knew Brian would do whatever he wanted to do – or did _not_ want to do, even if it meant one more night of lying in a bed of unfulfilled hopes and dreams. But he was ready for this – at least he hoped so. There was only one way to find out…He shook his head. "No…..Do it, Brian. I need you inside me….._you and you only_. Just go slow…..."

Brian smiled softly at him, his face a look of hope, of love. "Never," he whispered softly. "And don't take your eyes off me; when you look at me, I want you to remember who I am, who _we_ are. Remember how much I fucking love you, Justin Taylor-Kinney." He moved to kneel in front of Justin, so much like he did that first night, and gently grasped the downy, pale legs to place them over his shoulders. He leaned over just enough to retrieve the tube of lube, feeling Justin's eyes on him the entire time. Popping open the flip top, he squirted a general dollop in his hand as he rubbed it briskly back and forth between his palms to warm it up and hopefully make things more comfortable for his husband. He turned to stare back at Justin and smiled at him once more before, after a pregnant pause, he tentatively used the first joint of his middle finger to probe the puckered hole carefully; he stopped immediately as he heard Justin gasp at the initial contact, never taking his eyes off him. "Justin?" he asked in concern, his finger poised to stop where it was if necessary and immediately withdraw.

To his relief, however, Justin shook his head. "No….go on," he encouraged him. "More…..Please."

Brian nodded, keeping his gaze locked on him. His middle finger pushed in a little more, marveling at the tightness still, even after all these years; he knew it was a feeling he would never get tired of – not with this man. He watched Justin bite his lip in determination as he became emboldened and placed his index finger in with his middle finger, again stopping as he reached the first joint to make sure Justin was okay; the blond nodded in immediate confirmation as Brian looked at him. He slowly pushed in both fingers all the way until he curled them just enough to hit Justin's sweet spot; his heart beat rapidly as he heard Justin keen at the contact and he smiled back at him, knowing that was his normal response to that particular action. He always loved how vocal Justin was while they made love; it was his husband's way of telling him he wanted him and made him horny as hell. He could feel his cock hardening to an almost painful level now as his hopes began to build; the real test was yet to come, however…..

He pumped his fingers in and out several times, evoking the same reaction from his husband as he kept his eyes securely fixed on the darkening blue ones; he watched as the tip of Justin's tongue came out to wet his lips and it made him even harder at the sight. He knew he couldn't wait much longer – he had to have him, he had to know….they_ both_ had to know….. "Justin….?" he whispered hesitantly. It was a one-word question, but his tone of voice told Justin all he needed to know.

The blond reached up to grab the back of Brian's neck and pull him down for a brief but passionate kiss, telling him what he needed to know. "Please, Brian….."

Brian stared into the trusting blue eyes as he nodded, his heart pounding now. Reaching down to hastily place some more lube on his cock, he lined it up with the twitching hole before he slowly pushed in slightly, the leaking, pulsating tip just barely inside. "Justin?" he looked into the wide-open, unblinking eyes. To his joy, Justin sighed in relief at the wondrous sensation, knowing it was just a start, though. He nodded, encouraged. "Keep going, Brian….I need to know….more, I need _more_."

Brian nodded, pushing in a little deeper, a little fuller, stopping for Justin to adjust to him, to _them_ being together as one after so long. Would it last, though? "Justin?" he asked, concerned, as with alarm he noticed a cloud appearing on his husband's face as his eyes scrunched close. _No, you fucker, you are NOT doing this to us – to HIM…..Not this time…._

He gripped Justin's arms firmly as he felt his husband's pulse beating alarmingly fast in the beginning throes of terror. "Justin! _Justin_, look at me!" he commanded forcefully, shaking him slightly. "LOOK AT ME, damn it! It's Brian, Justin – look at me - please!"

Justin's eyes flew open initially in fright until he focused on the familiar, worried but determined face of Brian, his husband, the man who had taken a virginal, scared, brash-beyond-wisdom teenager who developed an immediate crush on him and had slowly taught him what it was like to be a proud, independent gay male. The man who had himself wound up falling in love with him and had stood by him through so much. He recalled what Dr. Anderson had said – concentrate on that, look into his eyes…_remember…_as his heartbeat slowed to a more normal rhythm and he took a deep breath to calm himself. He licked his lips, feeling the sensation of _Brian_ inside him, _Brian _loving, _Brian _staring into his eyes so deeply, begging him to come back to him…..

"Justin?" Devastated, Brian began to pull out, to withdraw, only for Justin to squeeze his biceps almost violently. He stared into the beautiful blue eyes as Justin swallowed, trying to compose himself.

"No," Justin whispered. "Don't." He shook his head, trying to voice what his heart was trying to say. "No," he pleaded. "No….keep going…..I need you. Brian, I _love_ you…..I _trust_ you….Please….fuck me."

Brian licked his lips again, his breathing ragged. He stared at Justin's look of determination and finally nodded. "Don't turn away….keep your eyes on me, Justin," he urged as he pushed more firmly into the warm, wet, hot channel. "And remember how much I love you," he whispered, as he finally pushed in all the way, holding there immobile as he searched his husband's face for any signs of struggle. To his enormous relief, however, Justin actually smiled as tears came to his eyes.

"That…Brian…..that feels so good…..so good," he gasped out in wonder. "God…so tight, so good." He gripped Brian's biceps even tighter as he urged him down for a kiss, their mouths twisting and probing in ecstasy and joy.

As they broke off their kiss, Justin's heart sang in victory and Brian felt tears of relief in his own eyes, because there wasn't pain or horror or dread now in his husband's sparkling, glistening blue eyes; there was only _love_…love and revelation.

"Brian…..more, God, more….._harder_," he cried out in jubilation as an even wider smile broke out on his face. It was like a dam had burst – a dam of emotions – as Justin's body was almost folded in half and Brian's restraint and inhibitions disappeared like a feather in the wind; he pushed harder into the familiar, welcoming body and pulled back out almost to the tip, only to thrust back in once more, every nerve and fiber in his body singing with welcome triumph.

"Yes…" Justin hissed in bliss at the familiar pain/pleasure. "Brian…Harder…..fuck me harder," he cried out, holding on tighty. "More." Now that he and Brian were finally making sweet, beautiful, passionate love again, he didn't want to ever stop. God, it felt so wonderful, so familiar, so comforting, so fucking hot…so good…

Brian now rammed in and out of Justin in an almost uncontrollable frenzy as the blond arched his body to meet his thrusts perfectly; he stopped periodically just long enough to kiss the oh-so-sweet lips of his husband deeply before resuming his pumping in and out, in and out, willing the unbelievable feeling to never stop but knowing it would. He could feel the familiar tightening of his balls and his body aching for release as he reached down to pump Justin's cock in time with his thrusts, wanting…._needing_ them both to come together. Moments later, he erupted in a loud cry of incredible sensual ecstasy as he heard Justin moan loudly and cry out his name when he, too, reached his climax and felt his husband's sticky, white seed spilling all over him.

As Justin lowered his legs heavily to straddle either side of his husband, Brian collapsed on top of him, his arms cradling the sweaty, heaving slender body tenderly as their breaths continued to come out in rapid pants. Brian rested his head, face down, in the crook of Justin's head and shoulder as he covered the smaller body with his own, hating like hell to roll off him but knowing he had to due to his heavier weight. He raised his head up to gaze into Justin's face, flushed and sweaty, and lovingly pushed back some of the hair plastered against his forehead, his wedding band glinting in the moonlit-washed room.

"You did it, Baby," he murmured. "You _did_ it. I'm so proud of you."

He replaced the golden hair with his lips briefly as Justin gazed up at him with gratitude – gratitude for so many things, so many times Brian had been there for him. Yes, he WAS lucky…._ Very _lucky. "Thank you," he whispered to his husband, placing his palm lightly against Brian's warm cheek.

Brian frowned in puzzlement as he smiled back softly at him. "For what, Sunshine?" he whispered.

"For standing by me, for loving me…..for just being _you_. I'm so lucky."

Brian's eyes again stung with unshed tears – tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of gratitude himself for how he had been blessed that day when a scared little blond boy had shown up under that streetlamp so long ago with aspirations and dreams of discovering his true self. Somewhere along the way, Brian had discovered his true self, too. "_I'm_ the lucky one," he whispered. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you."


	28. Epilogue

_Three Months Later - Kinnetik_

"Justin!" Cynthia exclaimed in delight as she glanced up to see the blond walking in with a spring in his step. At the time of his terrifying experience at the hands of Lane Prescott, it had been a few months before Brian had finally admitted what exactly had been going on during that awful period of Justin's torment. It was only after Justin had finally improved considerably that, with his husband's permission, her boss had told her what had happened to him. She had been absolutely horrified to hear what had occurred, but her admiration for Justin's courage and determination had grown even deeper as she watched him persevere and eventually triumph over what had been done to him. And from the looks both men constantly gave each other, and the tender, heart-filled touches they demonstrated every time they were together, it would be obvious to anyone, even a stranger, that their love was stronger than ever.

Justin looked at her warmly, appreciative of Cynthia's steadfast loyalty to Brian all these years; he knew that his husband could always count on her completely to handle whatever he threw at her. Brian was a strong, dominating, forceful man and it took someone just as assertive to stand up to him; he was grateful that Cynthia admirably filled that role for him.

"Hi, Cynthia," he said, smiling, as he approached her desk. "Is Brian in his office?"

She nodded, returning his smile. "Yeah….I'm glad you're here; he's been a real bastard today and you always cheer him up. I'm _always_ glad to see YOU – it makes my job so much easier."

Justin laughed. "I'm not sure if I want to go in there or not – what's wrong _this_ time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, just the latest fuck-up from the art department." She eyed him intently. "Sure you don't need another job besides the one you've got? It sure would solve two problems at once, and something tells me my boss wouldn't object."

Justin grinned. "No, thanks. I like my day job. Besides, I get him at night, remember?"

"You've got a point there," she said wryly. "Well, good luck with the grouch – want to take my vase with you in case you need something to throw?"

Justin chuckled; it felt so damn good to laugh again. He shook his head. "I'll take my chances," he told her as she nodded. He walked down the familiar hallway, acknowledging some of the employees he knew before he approached Brian's open office door. He smiled as he heard the familiar bellow coming from within.

"No, Jensen! You and your kindergarten students have two – count 'em, TWO – hours to get the fucking boards up to standards or you will be using finger paints to fill out your unemployment applications, you got it?" He could hear the office phone being slammed down as he peeked his head inside the door, only to duck as a glass paperweight came flying over his head to land with a crash on the opposite side of the wall. He smirked; Cynthia had been right on about needing to defend himself.

"Trying out for the Pirates' spring training camp?" he deadpanned as he raised his head back up to stare at his husband in amusement. "I didn't know you had such a good pitching arm."

Brian's fury over his latest employees' screw-up instantly abated as he saw the beautiful face of his husband smiling back at him, free of the anguish, fear and worry that had threatened to consume him for so long. Oh, he realized everything wasn't all peaches and cream yet – Justin still had periodic bouts of nasty dreams where he relived what had happened to him – but they were farther and farther apart now, and when he _did_ have them, he was there to instantly reassure him that Prescott would never hurt him ever again. Dr. Anderson had been so pleased with Justin's progress that their last counseling session had been more than a month ago; he had been satisfied that together, the two of them could weather any emotional residual effects that remained.

And their lovemaking – it was still as passionate, dynamic, and tumultuous as ever – even more so, in his opinion, because it had been tempered now with an even greater understanding of just how deep their love was and how strongly committed they were to each other. Under those circumstances, there was no way he could remain angry when Justin showed up, because his worries instantly faded away into pleasure at seeing the man he loved made whole again.

He smiled as Justin walked into the room and he swept him up into his embrace; the two men kissed deeply for a few seconds until he reluctantly pulled back enough to gaze into the sparkling eyes, so alive now with life and happiness. "Sure you did," he said, grinning. "You play with my balls all the time," he pointed out, waggling his eyebrows playfully as he curled his lips under in that little, mischievous boy look that Justin loved.

He achieved the desired laugh from the blond as he couldn't resist giving his husband one more quick kiss on the lips. "Well, if you didn't come here to play ball, Sunshine, what _are _you doing here?" He leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Sure you don't need to _go to the bathroom_?"

Justin laughed. "No, I don't _need to go to the bathroom_," he said as Brian pretended to pout. "I think I can wait a few more hours for you to fuck me."

Brian shrugged, stroking the soft flesh of his husband's back tenderly. "Your loss, Mr. Taylor-Kinney," he quipped with a smile. He released Justin to lead him gently over to the couch. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked. He held onto Justin's hand as he pulled him down onto the couch to sit next to him. Their hands remained linked together as he looked at the blond expectantly.

Justin looked a little nervous, his face full of some unreadable emotion all of a sudden as he looked over at Brian.

"Something wrong?" the brunet asked softly, his facetiousness promptly replaced with concern. He _thought_ everything was going well; he certainly had no complaints. He was happier than he had ever been. To his relief, Justin shook his head and smiled.

"No," he said. "I just had something to give you and I didn't want to wait."

"I thought you just got through saying you _could_ wait," he teased him, achieving a slight smirk in return.

"Not that," Justin said softly. "It's just a little gift I wanted you to have – to let you know how much you mean to me."

Brian frowned. "But you already got me _that_," he pointed out, glancing over to his desk where the magnificent portrait of him and Gus was proudly displayed. With everything that had happened over the past few months, it had only been recently that Justin had recalled he had left Brian's anniversary present nestled in the trunk of his car. Brian hadn't minded, though – he had been delighted with Justin's gift to him. Even now, his uncanny way of bringing people he loved to life made him both envious and proud of his husband's talent. "And I've got YOU," he said, almost embarrassed at his heartfelt words. "I don't need anything else."

Justin flushed with pleasure over the compliment. "Neither do I," he said softly with a smile. "But I wanted you to have this anyway." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black, rectangular, cardboard jewelry box. He held it out to Brian, who eyed it curiously before reaching to grasp it in the palm of his hand.

"Open it," Justin encouraged him, turning to angle his body toward his husband.

Brian nodded. He gingerly lifted the lid of the box and placed it down on the cushion to peer inside. At first, all he saw with white tissue paper. He reached in to pull out the top layer to finally figure out what was inside. "Justin….." He sucked in a sharp, surprised intake of breath at the sight as he pulled out a clear, crystal figurine of an angel hanging on a thin, gold-colored nylon rope.

He gazed in shock at his husband. "I….Why? I'm surprised….After you said…"

"I know," Justin replied softly as Brian cradled the shimmering figurine gently in the palm of his hand. "But after what happened…..after everything we've been through…..I realized something. I don't feel nauseous anymore, I don't feel sick at the sight of them. Because you know why?"

Brian shook his head as he looked in wonder at the angel cradled in his hand, a sign of how far Justin had come.

"Because of _you_, Brian. You're my guardian angel. So all I see now when I look at that is how much you love me and how much I love you. And how you'll always be there to protect me, just like you always have." He leaned over to take Brian's other hand, his thumb caressing the tender flesh. "Now angels make me _happy_; YOUmake me happy."

Brian gently closed his hand around the precious object. "I think this is the most wonderful gift I've ever received," he told Justin. "Besides you and Gus," he added tenderly, leaning over to bestow another kiss on the soft lips. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll treasure it." _Just like you_, he thought as he gazed into the blue eyes so full now of happiness and hope.

He stood next to the couch and peered down at his husband. "I think I'm ready to go home, Sunshine," he told the blond as he placed the angel carefully back into the box. He reached down his hand to pull Justin up alongside him. "Let's go home and fuck; you've made me horny now."

Justin laughed. "My pleasure," he told him, as arms around each other's waists, they walked out of the office, the angel tucked securely away in Brian's pocket.

* * *

The End

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed - I am deeply appreciative of your support.:)


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